


Waylaid

by Elya_Rho



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne to the rescue, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Swears, Kidnapping, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elya_Rho/pseuds/Elya_Rho
Summary: All Damian wanted was to spend the day alone with his father. Then Drake had to go and ruin everything by getting himself kidnapped ...Chapter 9: Damian is a little surprised by Drake's actions
Comments: 92
Kudos: 520





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic involving the Batfamily (and the first thing I've written in almost a year!). I've been reading the comics completely out of order, so it's not entirely canon accurate, but it takes place after the events in the Red Robin series. There is some swearing, because I think bad guys would probably swear and Jason would definitely swear.
> 
> I hope you like it!

** Chapter 1 **

If there was one thing Damian Wayne hated, it was waiting - enduring long, empty minutes in which there was nothing to occupy his bored mind.

Not all waiting was horrendous. He could, of course, handle the dull inactivity of a long stakeout or the anticipation of watching for the perfect moment to strike at an unaware villain - those were moments he could bear, or even enjoy. They went hand-in-hand with being Robin, and that was something that Damian loved.

This, though . . .

This was simply _nothing._

He was sitting in the back seat of the car, waiting for Father to finally free himself from the sycophantic hangers-on who seemed intent on ingratiating themselves to him whenever they saw him. That was the only explanation for his father's continued tardiness. It shouldn't be taking this long. How hard could it be to disentangle himself from the bottom-feeders of the corporate world? It was hardly a gala or fundraising event, after all. It was a simple meeting and Father himself had believed it would prove to be straightforward and resolved quickly.

Apparently, he had been mistaken.

Damian sighed, instantly berating himself for the outward sign of weakness. He hadn't been waiting all that long, after all. Certainly, it wasn't as though he'd been looking forward to this moment all day. It wasn't as though he'd been forced to endure a pointless half-day of school for the sole purpose of an inane assembly, followed by a long drive from his ridiculous private school to the foot of Wayne Tower all so he could wait even _longer_ for his father to free himself from a group of adults who apparently couldn't function without ingratiating themselves to him.

No. Damian was not impatient. He was imperturbable.

A quick glance to the front seat assured him that Pennyworth had either not heard his earlier sigh, or was choosing not to comment. Either way, Damian set his jaw and resumed staring out the window.

Any minute now, Father would emerge from Wayne Enterprises and make his way to the waiting vehicle. Any minute now, they would be on their way to their promised _father-son bonding_ _event_ to commemorate the first day of summer vacation and Damian would no longer be stuck waiting in the backseat of a rapidly-warming car.

_Any minute now._

_Any . . . minute . . . now._

He hit the button to lower his window, which only served to let more humid air rush in. With another faint sigh, he put the window back up.

Summers in Gotham were intolerable.

Damian didn't mind heat, but the thick mugginess that took over Gotham during the summer was oppressive. It was like breathing liquid sometimes and it was uniquely capable of sapping his endurance during long, sweltering nights on the rooftops.

He wasn't certain, but he thought he might possibly hate the summer far more than the winter, though even Damian had to acknowledge that his opinion would probably change once the snow started to fall.

He realized he was still wearing his school blazer and frowned at his stupidity. There was no need for the restricting garment. He was free of school for the next several weeks and there was no point in maintaining the regulations of his imposed wardrobe any longer. With a little more relish than he usually allowed himself to express, Damian tugged at his tie, loosening the absurd affectation before pulling it over his head and tossing it on the seat beside him. He then shrugged out of the blazer, leaving it in a heap to get wrinkled or spontaneously combust in the heat - whichever happened first.

He didn't particularly care.

The small grimace he caught from Pennyworth could either have been disapproval at the wrinkling of his blazer or wordless commiseration. The butler was dressed in a full suit, and though he would never allow himself the luxury of being spotted performing his duties without proper attire, no matter how hot or uncomfortable he was, the temptation to shed some layers had to be present. Pennyworth was, after all, only human.

Damian tapped his fingers on the armrest.

How much longer -

Movement at the doors caught his attention and he found himself straightening.

People were definitely coming out in a large group. He recognized several of the well-dressed people making their way from the WE lobby.

 _Finally_.

He almost let himself sigh in relief, but frowned instead as he caught a familiar dark-haired figure nearly lost in the sea of taller men and women.

_Drake._

Damian scowled as he watched Drake step briskly down the steps towards the patterned brickwork courtyard at the base of the tower. He looked ridiculous in his suit, like a child trying to play dress-up to fit in with the grown-ups. Damian's frown deepened as several people stopped on the stairs to speak with Drake, who responded with smiles and handshakes.

_Ridiculous._

As though they respected his opinion. As though they were doing anything but using Drake to get to Father. Drake was simply too simple-minded to see -

Another thought stuck him.

He hadn't realized Drake was going to be at the meeting with Father. Surely that didn't mean that Drake was also coming with them to lunch? Father had promised that it would be time for just the two of them, that he wanted to hear all about Damian's plans for the summer and Damian wouldn't have to share him with anyone and he would even turn off his phone . . .

It was supposed to be just the two of them.

Drake would ruin everything just by being there. It was inevitable.

Even when he tried, Damian knew he couldn't stop himself from speaking his mind. It wasn't his fault that Drake was overly sensitive and prone to taking offence. The first time Damian opened his mouth around him, Drake would claim Damian was being unfair, things would degenerate into a verbal sparring match, Father would get that pinched look above his eyes, and lunch would be cut short to prevent further disharmony.

It never failed.

It didn't matter if Damian was trying to be helpful or not, like the time he'd suggested that Drake might be taken more seriously at board meetings if he cut his hair to look less like a wind-swept vagabond. He'd made the comment in earnest - surely looking the part of a businessman involved more than simply dressing in a suit? - but Drake simply refused to see his words as anything but an outright attack designed to get under his skin.

Father had, of course, sided with Drake and chided Damian to be nice to his brother.

As if Drake could ever be his brother.

The teenager in question managed to disentangle himself from the group of suit-wearing gossips and finish making his way down the steps. Damian watched in growing relief as he reached the courtyard and didn't so much as glance over to the car. He clearly wasn't trying to find them, nor did he appear to be waiting for Father. He simply pulled out his phone and walked blindly into the crowded square, as though trusting that people would move for him.

Damian barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. It would serve him right if he walked into someone.

He almost turned his attention back to the doors to await Father's imminent arrival when something else caught his eye.

Something was wrong.

Damian leaned forward, uncertain of what it was . . .

_There._

Three people - two men and a woman - had been loitering near a large white van and were now moving with unmistakable purpose towards an oblivious Drake.

Damian's breath caught in his throat as the first man caught up to the teenager, reaching out a hand as though greeting an old friend. Drake looked up, clearly surprised, pulling back slightly as the man's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Whoever the man was, Drake obviously did not know him, and it was painfully apparent that the physical contact was unwelcome.

"Pennyworth, call Father!" Damian ordered, not bothering to wait for the butler's reply as he wrenched open the car door. He leapt from the vehicle, knowing instantly that he was likely too far away to fully prevent whatever was about to happen.

And whatever it was, it was nothing good.

Even as he raced to Drake's aid, Damian cursed the milling crowd that impeded his progress. The second man had already reached Drake, who was still trying to shrug off the first man's hand. 

Red Robin could have dropped both men in a second flat, but Timothy Drake-Wayne, at least in the minds of all the civilians who knew him, had no such skills. In the crowded walkway, Drake was like any other Gothamite - utterly useless.

Drake stumbled then, staggering backwards as he swatted at the second man in evident surprise. His phone dropped to the ground, only to be crushed under the foot of the first man as he grabbed a fistful of Drake's suit jacket and began to pull him towards the waiting van.

Damian let out a battle cry as a final burst of speed saw him reaching the would-be kidnappers.

And suddenly, chaos reigned.

People screamed as Damian launched himself onto the back of the first man, the one with an iron grip on the scruff of Drake's jacket. The man let go with a cry of shock as Damian punched him in the kidney with ruthless efficiency.

The villain would not be permitted to escape with Drake. As much as Damian hated him, Drake also carried Father's name. He was a Wayne in the eyes of the world and an attack on him was an attack on his father's honour. Such an outrage could not be tolerated.

Damian growled as he clung to the kidnapper, who bucked wildly in an attempt to dislodge him. He wanted to drop the man where he stood. He wanted to break him and make him beg for mercy, but even as he seethed at the affront being made to his family name, he restrained himself.

He couldn't fight the way he wanted to. He was Damian Wayne and was as much a prisoner to his civilian guise as Drake was currently.

Speaking of Drake . . .

The older boy was doing nothing to save himself. He wasn't taking advantage of the distraction Damian was providing. As far as Damian could tell, he hadn't even gotten in a hit against his attackers. Instead, he was letting himself get dragged to the van by the other man and the woman, who had rushed up to Drake's side the moment Damian had grabbed the first man.

Drake was stumbling, his hands making ineffective fists as he squirmed inadequately against the hold he found himself in. He would never free himself that way! Even a civilian would have been able to launch a better defence than that!

_What was that imbecile doing?_

And then Damian spotted the empty syringe on the flagstones.

He let the anger take him for a moment, dropping from the kidnapper's back and kicking out with enough strength that he felt the man's knee pop out of its socket. The man dropped in a harsh cry of agony which was echoed by the shocked cries of the onlookers still gathered around them, but Damian didn't care. Let the gawkers see it. Let them think it was a lucky hit.

 _He. Didn't. Care_.

His rage didn't even surprise him. He might not care about Drake, but to drug an opponent and leave him with no chance to defend himself was the height of dishonour. It was a matter on which his grandfather disagreed, but Damian felt very strongly about it. There was no way he was letting these people drag a drugged and apparently more-helpless-than-usual Drake to whatever fate they intended for him.

The kidnappers swore as Damian struck. He went for the man first, leaping on him in an attempt to bring him down. He held out a small hope that the woman would be slowed down trying to hold Drake's weight, but she was either stronger than she looked, or Drake's confused stumbling was working in her favour, because she was still successfully nearing the van even as Damian tangled with the large man.

The woman opened the door, hopping into the van and pulling at Drake until he fell partially into the vehicle after her. Time seemed to slow as Damian let out a curse that would have made Todd laugh and Richard despair. He met Drake's unfocused gaze as the teenager's head sagged forward. He was still conscious, but likely wouldn't be for long. Whatever he had been given was alarmingly fast-acting. The woman tugged again, dragging Drake's feet into the van even as the driver leaned over and shouted at Damian's opponent to hurry.

Damian cursed again.

Where was Father?

With anger seething through him, Damian knew he wasn't going to win the fight without resorting to attacks far beyond the capabilities of a typical pre-teen. He could either fight like Robin in front of countless witnesses, or hope that father would be able to track Drake when the kidnappers absconded with him.

Because it was no longer a question of _if_ they got away. With Drake already in the van and Damian's opponent a matter of steps away, the window of opportunity was closing quickly.

It was over more quickly than Damian anticipated.

His opponent stopped trying to dislodge him and simply jumped the last few feet into the van, screaming at the driver to move even as he landed ungracefully on top of Drake. Damian found himself thrown heavily into the side of the van, squished between the metal wall and the solid form of the kidnapper as he slammed Damian against the hard surface again and again.

Damian's head hit the wall hard enough that he lost his grip and fell to the floor.

Ears ringing, he barely registered that the van door was already shut and they were clearly moving. The van rocked violently as the driver took a sharp turn at a highly inadvisable speed.

There was no more time to come up with a plan. He needed to end this now. He grabbed at the man, intent on bringing him down -

The woman pulled a gun, aiming it at his head with a furious scowl. "Stop it, kid. Right now!"

Damian sneered back, but stilled. The man sank to the floor beside him, resting his back against the van door. Damian hoped it would open and spill him onto the road.

He kept his attention on the woman with the gun, who was adjusting her grip as though unused to handling weaponry. That at least was a good sign and Damian filed the information away for future use.

She was standing over Drake's prone form, and Damian glanced over to see if he was still alive.

The other boy was blinking slowly, eyes not quite focusing on Damian as he tried unsuccessfully to sit up. His arms flopped uselessly and he was clearly losing what little consciousness he still possessed.

So, he was obviously going to be of no help whatsoever.

As per usual.

Damian tried to come up with a viable plan. The gun was a hindrance, but wouldn't have been insurmountable if it weren't for the possibility of getting Drake shot in an escape attempt.

Even if he somehow managed to get them both out of the van while it was still in motion, Drake would still likely sustain serious injuries as he would be unable to control his fall.

Either option might result in a dead Drake; no real loss, but Father would be displeased.

Better to hold off until a better opportunity presented itself.

"What the fuck do we do now?" the man panted. "This was not part of the plan."

"What about Rod?" the driver called back. "He didn't get in the van! We fucking _left_ him!"

Another wild turn made the woman curse. She braced herself against the side of the van and glared down at Damian as though it were his fault they were short a kidnapper. Which, of course, it was, but Damian didn't feel the need to point that out. He simply bared his teeth in a menacing grin and enjoyed the unsettled expression that flitted across the woman's face.

"Forget him," the man by the door said bitterly. "We have bigger problems. That was supposed to be quick and quiet. I don't know if you were paying attention, but it was neither. We need to stay under the radar and switch vehicles, and we need to do it soon. The cops'll be all over us."

"And what about him?" the woman said, gesturing to Damian with the gun. Damian sincerely hoped she had the safety on. "We weren't prepared for two, Greg. This changes everything!"

"No names," the man, _Greg_ , ordered. "And this is fine. This is better than fine. It's great."

"How is this _fine_?" the driver spat.

Greg let out a laugh. "Don't you know who this is? This is Damian Wayne, as in, the youngest son of good ol' Brucie Wayne. We were aiming for one, but we got ourselves _two_ and that means that we just doubled our payday, my friends. Wayne will give us the _moon_ to get these two back alive!"

Damian scowled again at the man's laughter. _Ransom_. He should have guessed.

Not that Drake was really worth that much, but the kidnappers couldn't have known that. He looked over at the boy in question and sighed to find his eyes closed and his movements stilled. He'd clearly lost his ineffective fight against the drugs.

All Damian had wanted was to have an afternoon with Father, uninterrupted by Drake's incompetence or unceasing neediness. Now, his plans had been utterly ruined and Drake didn't even have the decency to be conscious enough for him to tell him how much of an inconvenience he was.

This was not how Damian had intended to spend his first day of summer vacation.

It wasn't unsalvageable, however. With any luck, Father would be suiting up and launching a rescue immediately. They could get back on track, go for lunch, and leave Drake to drool away the afternoon under Pennyworth's watchful gaze.

Damian calmly eyed the gun still pointed at his head.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce Wayne was not a man prone to panic.

He spent his life running towards things that caused panic in other people. He faced down imposing foes both in his nightlife and across the negotiating table. He was calm, unflappable, composed . . .

And at that exact moment - utterly terrified.

One phone call from Alfred, one _sentence_ of warning, and Bruce had gone from relishing his boardroom victory with Lucius to racing out of the building as quickly as he could, thankful that he was already in the lobby and therefore all that much closer to his children.

It had only taken five words from Alfred to turn him from Brucie to _Dad._ Just five words: _the boys are in trouble_.

There was no question of which boys Alfred was referring to - Tim had left just moments earlier and, as far as Bruce knew, Damian was still with Alfred in the car out front. They should have been safe, but somehow, something had gone wrong. Somehow, even within sight of the building, they had ended up in enough danger that Alfred had called for aid. The tone of Alfred's voice had conveyed more than his words - Bruce needed to be there and he needed to be there _now_. Whatever was happening, time was of the essence.

Bruce burst out the front door, bolting down the steps even as he scanned his surroundings to determine what exactly was going on.

A group of people nearby was reacting to something with alarm and Bruce swore as he saw just what it was that was alarming them.

Tim, head lolling and clearly incapacitated somehow, was being pulled into a white van.

Damian, fierce and furious Damian, was latched onto a man's back and being taken inexorably towards that same van even as he rained blows down on the man's body.

_His children were being kidnapped!_

Bruce never paused and never hesitated. He raced for the van, pushing people out of the way as needed, cursing the fact that he wasn't moving faster. He almost made it.

_Almost._

He was only a few metres away when Damian disappeared from view and the van door slammed shut. Bruce let out growl of fear and rage as he tried to grab at the door handle.

He had to get his sons!

His fingers brushed the warm metal just as the vehicle pulled from the curb, launching into the afternoon traffic utterly heedless of the danger.

Bruce cursed, his hands clenched tightly in anger as the van wove wildly into the streets.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred's voice cut through the noise of the crowd as the car pulled up beside him to a screeching halt. "Get in!"

He didn't wait for another invitation. Bruce pulled open the door, leaping inside even as Alfred sped back into motion without waiting to see if he made it. Bruce didn't acknowledge him, but kept his eyes focused on the white monstrosity in front of him.

Gotham drivers were known to be reckless, but whoever was driving the van was in a league of their own. The vehicle took a turn at a ridiculous speed and Bruce found himself holding his breath and hoping that he wasn't about to see his two youngest sons pancaked in a wreck.

Against all odds, the van stayed upright and undamaged by oncoming traffic and Alfred smoothly duplicated the manoeuvre with a polish that gave credit to his steady nerves.

Horns blared in disapproval as Alfred cut across two lanes to bring the car behind the kidnappers.

The vehicle continued to dart between lanes, weaving its way through the snarl of traffic wherever even a slight opening presented itself.

Without warning, the van swerved again, this time cutting from the left lane all the way back into the right and causing a number of cars to slam on their brakes to avoid ramming into it.

Alfred barely managed to avoid a collision himself, but expertly brought the car back into pursuit. "I believe they realize they are being followed, sir."

Bruce nodded. "We can't lose them, Alfred."

"Indeed." Alfred was as unflappable as ever, but Bruce could hear the tension in his voice.

The car moved faster and Bruce tried to figure out a plan. They couldn't ram the van without risking the boys. They couldn't let the chase continue - there had been too many close calls already. He was too far back to get a tracker on it -

"Master Bruce!" Alfred's warning was unnecessary.

Bruce saw it.

The van narrowly made it through an intersection. Bruce held his breath as the back was nearly clipped by passing truck, but the truck swerved and the van emerged unharmed on the other side. The other cars in the intersection were not as lucky.

A passing delivery van was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid getting struck by the truck that had just avoided the kidnappers' van. The truck had no time to respond, crashing into the car next to him, which crashed into the car next to it.

In a matter of seconds, the intersection was a mess of entwined vehicles and Bruce was trapped on the wrong side of it, watching helplessly as his kids were spirited away into the twisting underbelly of Gotham.

* * *

"Mister Wayne, I need you to calm down and give me your statement."

Bruce glared at the police officer who had the gall to tell him to calm down when his children had just been kidnapped. He knew he needed to be more Bruce Wayne and less Batman at the moment, but the way the officer faltered at his look told him he was failing miserably on that count.

He didn't care.

He paced in the intersection where he'd been forced to give up the chase. He wanted to leave. He _needed_ to leave.

He needed to suit up and find his kids before they were hurt, but as a civilian, Bruce had none of the freedoms afforded to Batman. When the police told Bruce Wayne they needed his statement, Bruce Wayne had no choice but to obey. It was his bad luck that there happened to be a couple cruisers in the area at the time of the accident and he and Alfred hadn't been able to disentangle themselves before they arrived.

"My sons were just kidnapped in broad daylight," Bruce said through gritted teeth. "I don't care about the car accident. You need to be out there looking for my boys!"

And _Batman_ needed to be out there, too, but that was looking less likely as another police car pulled up and a man stepped out.

Jim Gordon.

That was both good and bad. Good, in that Jim was a man who would get results; bad, in that he was also a man who would not be easily distracted. Bruce wasn't getting away from him anytime soon.

"Mr. Wayne," Gordon greeted him sombrely. "I'll take it from here, Officer Perkins."

The officer in question looked relieved and rushed off before anyone could change their minds.

"Jim, that van has my kids in it," Bruce said. "We don't have time to sit around -"

"I know, Mr. Wayne," Gordon interrupted. "My officers have informed me about the happenings at Wayne Tower and I assure you we are going to do everything in our power to bring your boys home safe." His voice was neutral and professional, one carefully maintained to keep people like terrified fathers from panicking.

Bruce bristled at the statement. It was a standard promise, one that carefully skirted the line between offering hope while avoiding the outright promise a good outcome. Jim knew better than to promise Tim and Damian's safe return; he was a Gotham cop and had been for long enough to know things didn't always play out well.

Unfortunately, Bruce knew that, too.

"We've known each other a long time, Jim, and this isn't the first time we've met under these circumstances, so I'd appreciate it if you don't bother sugar-coating things for me. I want to know exactly what is going on and I don't want any special handling; I need the truth. Alfred informed me one of the kidnappers was left at the scene."

"That is true," Jim said with a slow nod. "We have him in custody. He's not talking right now, though."

"Why not?" Bruce demanded, not caring that his voice deepened into a growl. "Make him talk!"

"He's at the hospital, Mr. Wayne, and he's on painkillers. Your son, Damian, managed to take him out at the knee - bent the leg out almost completely sideways. Can't say that I have much sympathy for him, but it means that he's not really able to answer any questions right now. We're running his prints to try and find out who he is. Once we know that, we'll look for known associates, but until he's cleared to talk to us, that's all we can do."

"So, he helped kidnap two children off the street, but you can't talk to him because one of those kids managed to _fight back_?" Bruce felt the rage again. Let the bastard hurt; it was the least he deserved. After all, he wouldn't have been hurt at all if he'd left Tim and Damian alone in the first place. "And what if he has no criminal record? Prints won't tell you who he is if this is his first offence. What will you do then? Wait until he's finished physical therapy and see if he's willing to talk _then_?"

"As much as I hate it, there are rules," Gordon replied. "And he's not exactly coherent at the moment. We have to wait until the doctors clear him, but we're not sitting on this, I promise you. We're going to find out everything we can about him. I'll have a picture sent over so you can see if he's at all familiar to you."

Bruce glared, but Jim seemed impervious. Then again, the commissioner regularly stood toe-to-toe with Batman. Bruce Wayne probably seemed like a walk in the park in comparison.

"For now, do you have any idea who might have reason to take your sons?" Jim asked.

Bruce laughed bitterly. "Who would want to take my sons? I'm a billionaire in Gotham. In this city, given an opportunity, any number of people would want to take my sons."

"Pardon me, sir, if I may," Alfred interjected. "I believe Master Timothy was the intended target. Master Damian was taken only after he intervened in an attempt to rescue his brother."

Jim sighed. "That doesn't actually narrow the suspect pool. That might even make it worse."

Bruce could only agree. Tim was a teenager practically running Wayne Enterprises. He was influential, powerful, and rich. Despite his agreeable nature and genuine concern for all the employees under him, he had made enemies simply by being young and in charge. In performing his duties for the company, he'd had to make difficult choices, some of which resulted in cancelled projects or re-structuring, which in turn led to a number of disgruntled employees. Added to that was Tim's campaign to ensure that Wayne Enterprises was entirely above board. He'd been forced to let several people go for less-than-honest behaviour: everything from embezzling and falsifying research, to corporate espionage and selling classified information. Bruce had been missing in time for much of those early days, but upon his return he had fully supported Tim's decisions. WE needed to be on the up-and-up, and Tim had been proactive about it. Unfortunately, that had led to some very wealthy people with some very deep-seated grudges against the young businessman.

"It could be anything from ransom to revenge," Bruce muttered.

"And it could be revenge against you, or revenge against Mr. Drake-Wayne," Jim added. "We'll need a list of people with possible motives. The snatch-and-grab aspect of all this makes me think it's a ransom, but we have to look at every possibility."

Bruce nodded even though he knew that list would be far too long to be useful.

His phone rang and Bruce was pulling it out before the first trills had died away.

"B? Any news?" Dick's voice was an almost instant relief.

"One second, Dick," Bruce said. He held the phone aside and turned to Jim. "It's Dick, I have to take this."

Jim nodded and turned to talk to Alfred, already moving to take notes. It wouldn't be the first time Alfred's attention to detail could prove vital.

Bruce stepped away, trying to distance himself from the chaos of the collision site and the countless people still milling about. "Dick?"

"Still here, B. What happened?"

"All we know is that a group of people were waiting for Tim after the meeting let out. They grabbed him and when Damian tried to intervene, he was taken too. Alfred and I chased them, but we lost them."

"I'm looking at the crash site now," Dick said. "Southwest corner."

Bruce tried to look nonchalant as he glanced up at the roof of the building across from him. He caught a glimpse of Nightwing's figure for a moment before Dick stepped away from the edge. It wouldn't do to have anyone see him, but Bruce was comforted by his presence. At least _someone_ had the freedom to do something to help Tim and Damian.

"I don't think Gordon is going to let me out of his sight," Bruce admitted. "He's going to treat it as a ransom until we know otherwise, which means phone monitoring and waiting for a call."

"We'll use Oracle and Alfred as go-betweens," Dick said. "He can convey anything we find to you without alerting anyone else."

Which meant Bruce would be almost completely out of the loop, which was unacceptable. "I'll wear a comm," he countered. "I won't be able to talk to you directly with Gordon glued to my side, but Oracle can patch me in and I'll at least be able to hear you."

To his credit, Dick didn't voice any concerns about the risk of Gordon noticing the comm.

"Are there any suspects? Anything at all we can use?" Dick was clearly trying hard not to let the worry seep into his voice.

"Actually, there is." Bruce let Batman's deep growl escape from his throat. "There's someone I'd very much like you to pay a visit to."

* * *

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian learns that the kidnappers aren't exactly what he expected. Meanwhile, with Bruce stuck waiting for a ransom call, it's up to Nightwing to track down his brothers … with some unexpected help.

"I can't believe that just happened! We could have died!"

Damian almost rolled his eyes at the woman's breathless exclamation, but the fact that she was still holding a gun in her shaky grasp was leaving him slightly concerned that she was going to accidentally shoot someone.

Namely, _him._

Or Drake, he supposed.

He wouldn't care if she shot the man or herself, but it would be highly inconvenient should her flailing result in bodily injury that would prevent Damian from taking down the kidnappers and rescuing himself and the unaware lump that was Timothy Drake.

Said lump seemed intent on sleeping through his own kidnapping.

While the woman fretted, Damian tried not to let himself worry about Pennyworth. Something had clearly happened which had forced the man to break off pursuit - and there was no question that Pennyworth had been in pursuit. He would never have simply sat by and watched while his charges were taken from under his nose. Whatever had caused Pennyworth to stop the chase must have been serious. Damian quashed the bubble of worry that rose within him, refusing to entertain the thought that the butler had been injured in any way.

Perhaps he had simply broken off the chase when it became clear that the getaway driver had no sense of self-preservation and no apparent interest in the safety of his passengers. Damian hadn't been able to see what was happening outside, but the van had made numerous alarming swerves and turns, and the driver's cursing hadn't done much to fill him with confidence.

As much as he hated to agree with the woman, it was a wonder they were still alive.

"What do we do with him?" the woman asked, flapping her arm in Damian's general direction as she visibly tried to control her rapid breathing. She was failing miserably. Clearly, she'd never been in a car chase before.

"Drug him and stow him with the other one until we get our money," Greg replied easily.

Damian tensed. Secret identity or not, he couldn't allow himself to be rendered unconscious. He _wouldn't_ allow it. He would fight.

The woman shook her head. "I only had the one syringe."

Greg snorted in disgust. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do you have any idea how much that cost me?" she retorted in a shrill voice. "It's not exactly street legal!"

"None of what we're doing is street legal!" Greg protested.

"You wanted fast-acting and easy to administer and that's what I got you," the woman replied. "We were going after _one_ kid, and the guy I got it from said it was all we'd need - it would keep a guy out for a few hours, and we wouldn't even _need_ a second dose because we were supposed to be done all this before he ever woke up. We didn't plan on a second kid, so I didn't get a second dose!"

"Fuck." Greg ran his hand down his face as he stared at Damian.

Damian stared back.

"Fine, gimme the handcuffs." Greg held his hand out towards the woman and gestured impatiently.

"We only have one pair."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Katie! What the hell?"

Damian smiled as the man accidentally revealed the woman's name. These people were idiots.

Katie glared back at Greg. "One kid. One dose of drugs. _One set of cuffs_. Why is this so hard for you to understand?"

Greg groaned. "Fine. Give them to me anyway. I'll take the chance that sleeping beauty isn't going anywhere anytime soon, but this kid's awake and he looks like a biter."

Damian scowled as the much-discussed handcuffs were retrieved and the man motioned for him to turn around.

"I see no reason to cooperate with you," Damian announced, relishing the deep red patches of anger that were rising on Greg's face.

"How about this?" Greg replied, leaning closer. "If you don't let me cuff you, this nice lady here is going to shoot your brother in the head. Or maybe you. I'm not particularly fussy either way."

"You wouldn't," Damian scoffed. "You want money for us."

"Two ransoms would be nice, but I was only expecting one. No big deal if we stick with the original plan." He stood up and reached out to take the gun from Katie's shaking hand. He didn't hesitate as he aimed it at Damian's head, and his grip was steady despite the movement of the vehicle.

Katie let out a small gasp, but said nothing. Hypocritical of her, Damian thought, noting that she'd held the gun on him herself a few minutes earlier. It did, however, lend credence to his suspicion that she was less than inclined to hurt someone.

Her reaction to Greg, though . . . his actions surprised and worried her, which worried Damian.

Greg smiled. "Should I shoot you then, kid? Or should I shoot your brother?"

He moved the gun so it was pointed at Drake's oblivious form. The teen slept on, completely unaware of the danger he was in and Damian hated the surge of anger that rose within him. There was nothing he could do.

"Fine." He held out his hands, wrists close together so they could be cuffed.

"Nice try," Greg retorted. "Turn around."

The gunman handed Katie the cuffs and Damian turned obediently and allowed her to pull his hands behind his back. He winced as the cuffs were tightened and her hands withdrew. It figured that the woman didn't know about double-locking. If he struggled, the cuffs were just going to get tighter.

He glanced back over his shoulder, trying to ascertain if it was acceptable for him to turn around again. No one was looking at him, so Damian turned and sat, pushing his back against the wall of the van for stability.

"Where should we go now?" Katie asked. "We can't go to the original place. Rod might have told them everything by now."

"That's where the other car is," the driver called back. "We can't keep rolling around in this thing. Every cop in Gotham is looking for it; we need to ditch it fast."

Greg nodded. "We have to change the plan. We need a place where we can lay low until we find another car."

"Another car?" Katie groused. "In case you forgot, that car has all our supplies in it - everything we were taking to start a new life, including our passports and emergency money. If we don't go back for it, we're worse than screwed."

Damian almost laughed out loud at the thought of leaving valuables in a car in Gotham and expecting them to still be there later.

"You left your passports in the car?" the driver asked incredulously, echoing Damian's thoughts.

"We agreed that we wouldn't bring IDs with us when we grabbed the kid," Greg protested.

"That doesn't mean you leave them in the getaway vehicle in one of the worst parts of the city! That is the stupidest shit I've ever heard!"

"Well, nobody mentioned that in the planning stages!"

"We have two options," the driver said. "We can either risk that Rod hasn't told the cops anything yet and go for the car, or we accept that you two are idiots and abandon it. Either way, we need a new place to hide out while we get your car or a new one. The longer we drive around in this, the worse our chances are."

"You're right," Greg nodded in agreement. "We could try the warehouse district?"

"In this city, hiding out in warehouses is almost expected," the driver said with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "They're probably already looking there."

Damian couldn't argue. Abandoned warehouses, especially those around the dockyards, were typically the first places the bats searched when anything particularly heinous was going down.

"And even if we ditch the car, finding another one is its own set of problems," Katie sighed. "In this part of town, you're just as likely to be stealing from a drug dealer or gang member than anyone else. Stealing a car could get us all killed."

"That's also a good point," Greg groaned. "Okay, for now, we'll see if we can spot a place to hide out - preferably someplace close to the original site, so I don't have too far to go to get the car. I'll go grab it and bring it back while you guys get the ransom plan going. We can still do this thing on schedule and once we've ditched the van, we can go anywhere we need to."

Damian raised an eyebrow. _That was it_? That wasn't a backup plan; it was hardly even a backup _idea_. They were barely equipped for the kidnapping they _had_ planned and were woefully unprepared for the one they _hadn't._ These people were truly amateurs. He would have mocked Drake for getting captured by them in the first place, but he was all too aware that he was also currently in their clutches.

He didn't like the embarrassment that realization inspired.

Of course, he could say that he had merely allowed himself to be taken in order to ensure Drake's safety. That would sound suitably selfless and heroic.

Yes. That was what had happened. He had bravely flung himself headlong into danger to safeguard his pathetically vulnerable brother.

Not that Drake was his brother.

Katie and Greg were now talking quietly, glancing over at Damian every so often as though to ensure that he hadn't disappeared.

He hadn't, though it wasn't for lack of trying.

Damian grimaced as he tried to free himself from the handcuffs. They were too tight, biting into the skin of his wrists, but he kept working at trying to slide them off. He had no other option; he couldn't just sit around and wait to be rescued.

He was on his own for the time being, though he knew that Father and Pennyworth would be working on a way to track them -

_Trackers._

Damian bit back a groan of disgust. _Of course_. Father could track their emergency beacons. One had only to activate it, and the device would transmit a signal strong enough to be located anywhere in Gotham.

The only problem was that Damian's tracker was currently sewn into the hem of his school blazer . . . which was lying in a crumpled heap in the backseat of the car where he had left it.

Drake's tracker would still be on his person, though.

Damian regarded the unconscious teenager thoughtfully. Where would Drake keep his emergency beacon? Belt buckle? Watch?

Certainly somewhere innocuous and unlikely to be taken. It was, after all, why Damian kept his in his ever-present blazer when at school. He could hardly hide one in the thin metal band of his uniform belt, after all.

Watches were easily taken away, particularly watches belonging to the children of wealthy men.

_Belt buckle_ , Damian decided. All he had to do was get to Drake and activate the beacon. Batman would find them and they would be back home in no time.

He inched his way closer to Drake's still form, keeping an eye on the kidnappers.

"What about Alan Reynold's place?" Katie suddenly blurted out.

Damian stilled, eyes narrowed as he watched Greg consider Katie's words.

"Not bad, hon," he nodded slowly. "Lots of space, nobody in the area nowadays except for people who already want to avoid police attention . . . it's far enough away that nobody will think it's connected to the original site, but close enough that we might still be able to get the car before anyone is the wiser."

Katie smiled faintly, the gesture slipping from her face as she glanced at Damian.

"Did you say _Alan Reynold's place_?" the driver called back.

"He was a friend of my brother. You knew him?" Greg asked in obvious surprise. "Is that a problem?"

The driver grunted. "Not as long as we stay under the radar. That's a little further into Red Hood's territory than I'd like to be, and he has very definite views on people who kidnap kids. I have no intention of meeting up with him anytime soon."

Damian fought back a smirk at the mention of Todd. As embarrassing as a rescue would be, it would also be entertaining to watch the incompetent fools being scared out of their wits by a man who spent his spare time reading Jane Austen novels.

"You worry too much," Greg scoffed. "How will he even know we're there? We're going to be in and out before nightfall and I somehow doubt the Red Hood is wandering around in broad daylight looking for Bruce Wayne's kids. You know their kind doesn't come out until dark."

The driver made a non-committal grunt.

"Trust me." Greg looked over to Damian and grinned wolfishly. "There aren't any heroes out looking for these two."

* * *

Nightwing stood on the rooftop of Gotham General Hospital and took a deep breath.

It was not a good day.

His brothers had been kidnapped, there was exactly _one_ lead available to him, and Nightwing was stuck waiting until the coast was clear before making his move. Working during daylight hours was a hindrance and one that Nightwing, for obvious reasons, tended to avoid.

That said, he couldn't exactly wait until dusk and the growing shadows of Gotham could hide him from view. With the oddly clear sky and summer sunlight, he couldn't even melt into the background and manipulate the situation to his advantage.

It didn't matter, though. Waiting was not an option - not this time.

If it had been any other kidnapping, he would have been able to occupy himself by looking into the background of the victim and compiling lists of potential suspects while manufacturing opportunities to interrogate said suspects without interference.

It wasn't any other kidnapping, though.

They weren't _victims_ \- they were his _brothers_.

It didn't matter that they were both heroes in their own right.

It didn't matter that they were highly trained and competent.

It certainly didn't matter that they'd both gone up against far worse than they were currently facing and come out just fine.

This time, they didn't have masks. They were just kids and they were in trouble and the part of Nightwing that couldn't pretend to be detached was only a single step away from losing his mind at the thought of what might be happening to them.

He was absurdly grateful he wasn't Bruce right now. At least Dick could suit up and do _something_ , no matter how small. Bruce was trapped with a bevy of cops around him, completely unable to rip Gotham apart to find his kids. Dick wouldn't have been able to handle the forced inaction. He wanted to find his brothers and he wanted to do it _now._

At the moment, though, all he could do was wait until Oracle gave him the all-clear.

"O, what's it looking like down there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He was refraining from pacing, too, which he was counting as a win.

"They just brought him back from having x-rays taken and the duty nurse is getting him situated," Oracle replied through his comm. "There's a guard in the hall, and the suspect is handcuffed to the bed. The camera angle is terrible, so I can't really see into the room enough to give you a complete layout, but I can tell you he's the only patient in there."

"Nobody wants to share with a kidnapper," Nightwing replied with a huff. "Any progress on the van?"

A low hum sounded over the comm and he could hear the faint sound of typing. "I've accessed every security camera between here and the accident site, but once they got out of the main areas, the camera coverage is sporadic at best. You know how it is - the city fixes the cameras and the gangs just break them again. From what I can tell, it looked like they were heading to the East End."

Nightwing grimaced. "Of course they were."

"I'm checking every camera I can find to see where they come out," Oracle promised. "I know it's not much, but it hasn't even been an hour yet. We're not that far behind and we'll find them."

Nightwing nodded. "Thanks, O."

"I'll let you know when the coast is clear," Oracle said. "Punch him once for me, okay?"

"Only once?" He couldn't hide the hint of a smile at her words.

"Fancy meetin' you here," a voice cut in from behind him, cutting off Oracle's reply.

Nightwing didn't startle, but he straightened slightly. "O, I'll call you back." He heard the quiet click of the comm muting and he turned to greet his visitor. "Red Hood. You're out early."

If Nightwing was a noticeable figure in daylight, Red Hood was downright eye-catching. While the jacket and pants were fairly unobtrusive, the gleaming red helmet was catching the sunlight and shining like a traffic light. It very nearly blinded Dick as he tried to look at his brother. "Do you mind?"

Red Hood shrugged and reached up to release the mask. He was wearing a domino underneath, but seeing his brother's face still brought a sense of comfort to Nightwing, no matter how misplaced that sense might be. Having Jason back was a miracle, no question, but it was hardly a completely harmonious reunion. The former Robin made a life of toeing the line, skirting the edges of what was acceptable in Gotham and what would get him cast out by Batman. He wasn't always on the side of the Bats, but he wasn't always against them, either.

It didn't matter to Dick. He was almost always happy to see Jason these days, but his presence didn't necessarily mean things were going to go well.

"How's it going, Dickface?"

"Really?" Dick sighed. "It's not the time for this, Hood."

"I know. Why do you think I'm here?"

Dick paused at that. If it had been anyone else, he would have simply believed they were there to help. _With Jason, though . . ._ "I need information from him. You can't kill the guy."

Jason grinned. "Not yet."

"Like I said, this isn't the time."

"He kidnapped _kids_ ; it's not like he's a candidate for some kind of citizenry award," Jason growled, "but that's not even important right now. Look, I heard about Replacement and the demon brat and I'm here to help."

Jason's expression certainly _appeared_ earnest. He was even holding his hands out to his sides in the universal gesture of _look-I'm-not-a-threat_ , which meant absolutely nothing coming from him, but Dick appreciated the thought.

"Not that I don't appreciate that," Dick said, choosing his words carefully, "but you don't even like them."

Hood scoffed. "That doesn't mean I'm okay sitting around doing nothing while someone kidnaps and murders them."

Dick tried to hide the grimace that crossed his features at the images the words conjured in his brain.

Red Hood had the decency to look chagrined. "Not that anyone is going to get murdered. Except maybe the kidnappers, because _screw those assholes_."

Dick nodded slowly. He wasn't going to argue the point.

"They're kids, Dickie. Just kids," Jason shrugged. "And whatever weird and convoluted history I have with them, I won't leave them in trouble any more than you will. I'm offering you my help, but I'm telling it to you straight - if you turn me down, I'm going after them anyway and I'll be doing it my way."

"Okay," Dick said.

"Okay," Jason replied.

They fell into an awkward silence for a moment before Jason cleared his throat. "So, tell me everything you've got so far."

It wasn't much, Dick had to admit. All he had to impart was what Oracle had shown him on the security footage - three kidnappers and a driver, Tim getting drugged and pulled into the van, Damian bringing down one of the men before being taken as well, the chase through Gotham traffic and the resulting pile-up.

And now there was a suspect currently resting in a comfortable bed exactly three floors below them, waiting to have his leg fixed and blissfully unaware of the visitors he was going to receive as soon as his room was empty.

"No ID on any of the suspects?" Jason asked.

Dick shook his head. "Nothing yet."

"What about the drug they used on Timmy? Something that fast-acting isn't exactly available over-the-counter. It could give us a trail to follow."

"They're testing the syringe," Oracle's voice cut in through the comm and Dick wasn't surprised to note from his brother's tilted head that Jason was hearing her, too. "It's too early to tell what the compound was. If we had a sample, we might be able to get it done faster."

"We'll add it to the list," Dick replied. Hopefully, the guy downstairs would spill the beans enough to make a rescue possible, but if he refused to cooperate, the drug might end up being their only lead.

"What exactly are we waiting for up here?" Jason asked.

"Just waiting until the room is clear," Dick explained. "Can't really burst in there and demand answers in the middle of the day."

Jason snorted. "Why not?"

Dick paused, looking at Jason as though he'd gone insane. "Because we'd be _seen_? Because we can't exactly go around accosting prisoners under the noses of their police guards?"

"Maybe _you_ can't," Jason said, reaching up to fasten his helmet back in place. "But _I_ can."

The metallic sound of his voice stirred Dick to motion. "Will you just -"

The Red Hood pushed past Dick and secured a line at the edge of the roof.

"Wait?" Nightwing finished with a sigh as Hood leapt from the building and swung towards the kidnapper's window. The sound of breaking glass was nearly instantaneous. So much for subtlety. "Oracle, we're going in now."

Without wasting another moment, Nightwing raced after his brother. It wasn't how he would have chosen, but he couldn't deny that the promise of action was doing wonders for his state of mind.

_Finally._

He swung down, slipping into the hospital room even as Red Hood was carrying a wooden chair to the door.

"Walk away," he ordered the police officer, who had just managed to get to his feet in shock.

Whether the man obeyed or not was a moot point as Hood swung the door shut and braced it with the chair.

It wouldn't hold long to any aggressive attempts to open it, but Nightwing was fairly certain that no one in their right mind would attempt to break it down without backup, at least not when the Red Hood was on the other side of the door.

"Nice of you to finally join me," Hood said mockingly as Nightwing approached the end of the bed.

"Not about to let you have all the fun," he replied.

The man on the bed was clearly on painkillers, but the bug-eyed expression on his face more than betrayed the fact that he knew exactly who was standing at his bedside and he was terrified.

"We want to know everything," Nightwing said, his voice deceptively calm. "Who you are, who your accomplices are, where they're taking those kids, and what your plans are. _Everything_."

"You won't hurt me," the man stammered. "You can't hurt me!"

"Aww, hear that, Nightwing? You're not as scary as you thought, I guess." Red Hood's voice modulator gave a sinister tone to the light-hearted words. "I don't know where he got the idea that you don't beat criminals to a pulp in alleys in the middle of the night. Wasn't he paying attention?"

"Guess not," Nightwing conceded. For the moment, he was willing to play along.

"What about me, buddy? Do you think _I_ won't hurt you?" Red Hood pulled out one of his guns, pointing it first at the man's head before slowly trailing it lower and bringing it to rest on his swollen and painful-looking knee. The man squealed in terror, his handcuffs clanking as he grabbed at the bed frame in an attempt to escape. Red Hood's answering smile was almost audible. "You're already having a bad day. Let's not make it worse."

"You can't just let him shoot me!" the man begged, looking to Nightwing with wild eyes. "Do something!"

Nightwing shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it? He's got a _gun_."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Oracle's voice sounded in his ear.

Nightwing kept his expression neutral. He hoped so, too.

* * *

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Bruce broods and Damian tests the patience of the kidnappers.

The waiting was driving Bruce mad.

He hated playing the role of a helpless civilian at the best of times, but the fact that his kids were in danger and he was stuck playing _Brucie Wayne_ was intolerable.

Brucie was a mockery of the man Bruce wanted to be at the moment. Where Batman was a man of action and decisiveness, Brucie had to yield to the Commissioner's direction, which was how he found himself sitting in his office at Wayne Enterprises as the room was turned into a makeshift command centre around him.

He eyed the man in question from across his desk. As usual, Jim looked slightly rumpled and in need of sleep and more coffee, but he directed his officers with an air of authority that made him unquestionably the one in charge.

Jim Gordon was efficient and confident. Even before they had returned to Wayne Tower, Jim had begun organizing a team to set up in Bruce's office. He hadn't asked for Bruce's opinion, nor had he made much of a show of deference when he steamrolled Bruce's request to return to the manor. His arguments had been logical - the kidnappers might call the office instead of Bruce's cell and the manor was too far from the city centre should they need to move quickly.

Bruce couldn't very well counter those points by saying he wanted to be closer to the Batcave. At the manor, he would have had the option of suiting up if the situation demanded it, secret identity be damned. Alfred would have been able to slip away and work the computers to help Oracle narrow down the evidence. Even if Bruce couldn't actively work the case himself, he would still have been closer to the tools he may be called upon to use at any moment. His office, while definitely offering a more central location, was not exactly brimming with Batman's equipment. Yes, he might be closer to his kids when they were found, but he would still be powerless to do anything about it.

It was a poor trade, but one Bruce couldn't remedy.

Alfred was doing everything he could to keep Bruce from giving in to the urge to rip the arms off his computer chair. While Alfred was absolutely enduring the same feelings of fear and helplessness as Bruce, he managed to hide it through sheer force of Alfred-ness. The steady butler somehow exuded calm with his mere presence and miraculously managed to keep most of the officers at bay. The office was still full of people, of course, but there was an almost tangible line in the room that divided their work area from Bruce's brooding space and so far no one had dared to cross it.

Such was the power of Alfred.

Gordon was, of course, excepted. He finally took a seat, lowering himself with a weary sigh into the chair on the opposite side of Bruce's desk. He spared Bruce a sombre look, but said nothing as the Prince of Gotham sat hunched and agonized before him.

There was nothing more they could do at the moment.

The wires and tracers had been connected to the office phone lines. Bruce's cell sat on the desk, and he watched it with restless impatience. The officers were ready. All they had to do was wait for a call so they could trace it to Tim and Damian.

And wasn't that the kicker?

Bruce's kids _had_ trackers. All of them had emergency beacons and they carried them _all the time._

Except for when they left their jacket in the car, or when they had been rendered unconscious and unable to activate it.

Bruce hated feeling helpless. He hated that his kids were out there and he couldn't go find them.

He brooded, hunching his shoulders slightly as he tried to come up with the names of every possible person who may have held a grudge against either him or Tim. It was not helping to distract him from the situation. All it was doing was reminding Bruce that there were a lot of people out there who might want to hurt his kids. Nobody should have a list of potential enemies as long as the one Bruce was currently writing. His teenage son should _absolutely_ not have a list of potential enemies as long as the one Bruce was writing.

He wished Oracle would give him another update on what was happening; she was his connection to the actual work being done to bring his sons home, and was likely the only thing keeping him from storming out to do it himself, consequences be damned. The fact that she hadn't contacted him in the past few minutes only meant that there was nothing to report.

She was undoubtedly working on multiple problems at once, and it wasn't as though Bruce could offer thoughts or suggestions in his present company. He just had to trust that she had everything under control.

Oracle had already eased some of Bruce's worry, first by confirming that Dick had made it to the hospital, and then by telling him about Jason's unexpected arrival.

Jason's approach to gathering information had thrown a bit of a wrench in Dick's original plan, but Bruce couldn't claim that he was against said plan moving a little more quickly.

It wasn't necessarily the way he would have done it, but -

_Who was he kidding?_

It was probably _exactly_ what he would have done if he'd been able to get the suspect within his grasp. Batman, like the Red Hood, would have found it very difficult to wait for an opportune moment under the circumstances.

Bruce felt encouraged by Jason's presence on the rooftop. He and Dick would find the boys and they would keep each other safe in the process, a fact which no longer surprised him to consider.

That Jason would come to his younger brothers' aid was no longer the uncertainty it had once been. Despite the pit-madness that had plagued Jason for so long, he was starting to come around. He teamed up with the Bats more and more, and was less likely to antagonize everyone and pick fights.

He was _far_ less likely to try to actively murder them. It had been a long time since Bruce had feared for Tim's safety when he was with Jason. At one time, Jason would have been more likely to attack Tim himself than to rescue him, but those days were in the past.

Now, Bruce could only be grateful to have the Red Hood on board. The more people looking Tim and Damian, the better the chances of bringing them back unharmed and hopefully quickly.

The boys had been missing for just over an hour. That was it. _One hour_.

It felt like a year.

It wasn't even as though this was the first time one of his kids had been kidnapped, either, whether it was in costume or not. He'd been through it enough times he should have known the drill. Dick alone had aged him before his time in those early years when every two-bit criminal in Gotham had pegged the child as an easy way to Bruce's fortune.

Somehow, knowing the playbook didn't make the fear go away. Bruce would never get used to the gnawing worry inside at the thought that his children were in danger and he could do nothing to help them. No amount of hiding behind a cowl and punching evil-doers would ever strip him of that fear.

He met Alfred's gaze as the older man circled the room and offered coffee to the officers. It was probably the finest and most expensive coffee any of them had ever tasted, judging by the fact that not one of them declined. Then again, maybe none of them knew quite how to turn down Alfred's hospitality. The man was a force to be reckoned with.

The small click in his ear alerted him to Oracle's connection before she spoke, giving him an opportunity to school his expression.

"B, Hood and Nightwing have interviewed the kidnapper at the hospital."

Bruce hummed an acknowledgement, keeping his voice low so Jim wouldn't notice.

"He gave them a location where they were planning to switch vehicles before moving to another hideout and the guys are going to check it out. We're hoping the other kidnappers might stick to the original plan, but we won't know more until they get there."

Bruce coughed lightly and took a sip of his rapidly-cooling coffee.

"Right," Oracle continued. "Here's everything we have so far. The guy in the hospital is named Rodney Meyers. He's 34 and has no record himself, though his brother ran with some bad crowds and is serving time in Blackgate for drug-running. Apparently, they haven't spoken in years. Get this - Rodney Meyers is a substitute teacher and volunteers at the animal shelter."

Bruce wanted very badly to respond to that, but he refrained.

"His accomplices are Greg and Katie Grant, and they're his neighbours. From what he told the guys, the Grants were in desperate need of money for some reason and were trying to come up with some way to get rich quick. They saw news coverage of you and Tim at the re-dedication of the Gotham Public Library last month and decided that, since you had a kid you clearly liked and enough money to rebuild a library, you'd probably be willing to exchange one for the other."

Bruce gave a low sound at that, something close to a growl.

Oracle sighed. "I know. It's almost too ridiculous to be true, so I'm checking into their backgrounds to see if there's anything deeper. I'm also trying to trace the driver of the car. Meyers didn't know anything about him except his first name, Mick. I'm working on that, too. That's all we have so far, but it's something."

Bruce cleared his throat again, earning himself a glance from Jim. He took another sip of coffee.

"I'll give you a heads-up when the Nightwing and Red Hood get to the location Meyers gave them, and if I find anything new, you'll be the first to know. We've got this, B. We'll find them."

Bruce made another hum of acknowledgement before Oracle signed off. His mind raced with the new information - the kidnappers had seen Tim on television and decided to take him.

It was insane.

He remembered that day. The weather had been perfectly pleasant, an abnormality in Gotham. Tim had been oddly enthusiastic about cutting the ribbon, which was apparently the only part of the actual ceremony he was looking forward to. Bruce wasn't sure exactly _why_ , but he suspected it had something to do with the ridiculously oversized scissors. He'd agreed to let Tim do the honours, something which he hadn't actually considered doing himself in the first place, though Tim seemed oblivious to that fact. The library restoration had been Tim's project and Bruce had done very little other than guiding his son through the process when needed. Not that he'd needed much guiding. The day had gone off without a hitch. Tim had been happy and Bruce had been proud. It had been a good day.

Bruce sighed. It had been a good day, and someone had seen that momentary peace from the glow of a television screen, _had watched Tim smile on that staircase,_ and decided to hurt him. For money.

Whatever trouble the Grants had run into in their lives, it didn't change the fact that they had seen his son as nothing but a potential windfall opportunity, and they hadn't hesitated to grab Damian as well the moment the option had presented itself.

One thing was certain. Whoever these people were, they were going to regret their actions.

He was going to make certain of it.

* * *

When the van finally stopped, Damian readied himself for the moment when the door would open. He wanted nothing more than to kick Greg in the solar plexus hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground.

He was _done_ with being a hostage. He was completely and utterly incensed at the incompetence of his captors, and he was not going to sit around and endure the indignity of it any longer.

He was going to save himself and Drake, and he could worry about the possible repercussions of his decision at a later date.

He tensed as the driver got out of the vehicle. Katie and Greg both watched Damian with wary gazes and Damian couldn't help but curl his lip in disdain. They would regret their actions and he would exact vengeance for what they had done.

He didn't get a chance.

The driver came around and slid the door open, pointing a gun at Damian with a casual ease that spoke of some familiarity with the weapon. It was the first time Damian had gotten a look at him. The man looked more like a surfer than a career criminal - all tanned skin and sun-bleached hair - but he eyed Damian with a hawk-like focus that showed he was ready for anything.

He was not like Greg or Katie, that much was obvious.

Damian sat under the man's watchful eye, seething at his forced inaction as Greg grabbed Drake and slid him from the vehicle. Drake's arms flopped uselessly and he made no sound as Greg heaved him into a fireman's carry.

"Just give us a second to make sure we have a place to put the runt before you bring him," Greg said to the driver as he walked away with Katie trailing after him. "I don't need him kicking my shins or anything while we look around."

Drake, of course, offered no opinion one way or the other.

"Where are you taking him?" Damian demanded. How was he supposed to rescue his hapless predecessor if he wasn't _with_ him?

"Sit tight, kid," Surfer-Man ordered. "You'll find out soon enough."

Damian scowled and tensed, more than prepared to attack the man at the first opportunity. The handcuffs dug into his wrists as he clenched his fists, but they wouldn't slow him down.

Damian was _Robin_. He could fight without his hands. He could bring the gunman down and save Drake without breaking a sweat.

Except he couldn't _see_ Drake. He didn't know where he was and there was no guarantee he would be able to get to him before Greg put a bullet in the teenager's stupid head. What would Father say if Drake got shot because Damian acted before thinking? He would be disappointed, angry . . . _no._ Not angry. _Furious._

And he would be right to be so.

There could be no excuses. Robin knew what he was doing; Robin knew what he _had_ to do. Drake was incapacitated - no more than an innocent civilian at the moment - and Robin protected civilians no matter the cost.

Robin would wait. No matter how much he hated it, he would get as much information as he could before he struck and exacted justice.

He met Surfer-Man's gaze steadily, careful not to betray a hint of the threat he actually posed, but showing that he was unafraid, nonetheless.

Surfer-Man didn't react.

"Okay!" Greg's voice called. "You can bring him!"

The gunman stepped back from the van, keeping his gun pointed at Damian. "You heard him, kid. Let's go."

Damian struggled forward, playing up the awkward movements from having his hands trapped behind him. Better they think him more inconvenienced than he actually was. The man made no effort to help, keeping just out of Damian's reach and never allowing his gaze to be drawn from the pre-teen hero spilling his way out of the van.

It was almost flattering how the man didn't seem to discount him as a threat despite his age and small size.

_Almost_.

"Walk," the man ordered, nodding his head in the direction he wanted Damian to go.

Damian complied, taking in his surroundings with an efficiency honed from years of training.

They were in what looked to be an abandoned chop-shop.

It could have been a typical mechanic's shop if not for the fact that it had clearly not been designed with cars in mind. There was only one door large enough for a car to enter through, and it was metal rather than the glass of a typical repair shop. Metal shelves lined the far wall, making it look more like the place had been some sort of storage facility originally. Ancient yellowed newspapers covered the windows, which let in only mottled streaks of sunlight.

The area was large and nearly empty, but there were enough random tools and car parts lying around to illustrate how it had been used. They passed a rusted hulk of a car; the doors and hood had been ripped off to show that the insides had been stripped utterly bare. It hadn't even been a nice car. The ground was stained with the remains of grease and oil and the scent of it was still noticeable as it clung to the cracked cement.

It was also cooler in the room than it was outside, probably due to the concrete construction.

Damian wasn't certain what had happened to the illegal business that had been operating out of the building, but he had his guesses and the evidence pointed towards nothing good.

There were still bullet holes in the walls and support pillars.

Surfer-Man kept pace with Damian as they made their way to a room in the corner, likely what passed for the office.

Katie stood in the doorway, nervously rolling up the sleeves on her shirt.

"Inside," she ordered, stepping aside so Damian could pass.

The room was spacious, perhaps due to the emptiness more than to any actual floor space. The office was much the same as the rest of the place had been. Metal shelves were fastened along the far wall. The concrete floors were slightly cleaner, but only insofar as they were covered with general grime rather than with grease. As in the other room, bullet holes graced the walls and support pillars giving silent testimony to the act of extreme violence that had clearly taken place within.

There was a rickety wooden desk and a broken chair to the right of the door and a row of newspaper-blocked window panes lined the wall near the ceiling. They were too high to see out of, but they let in a small amount of light.

Greg stood in the centre of the room, looking around with an appraising eye. At his feet was Drake's unmoving form.

The teen had apparently been deposited on the floor with very little care. He lay on his back, arms thrown haphazardly to his sides where they had dropped when he had come to rest on the filthy floor. He was pale in the weak light, though Damian had to admit that Drake was always pale. It didn't change the fact that he looked dead and Damian found himself frowning at the thought.

"You can't leave him like that," he said, his voice startling even him as it echoed slightly in the small room.

"What was that?" Greg asked.

Damian squared his shoulders as best he could and met Greg's gaze. "He's unconscious and drugged. If you leave him on his back and he becomes sick, he could aspirate his own vomitus. My father will not be merciful if harm comes to him through your incompetence."

Greg blinked at him.

"Maybe we could just . . . roll him onto his side?" Katie offered. "The recovery position? It couldn't hurt."

Surfer-Man said nothing from his position behind Damian, and Greg sighed.

Greg reached down, gripping Drake's shoulder.

"No!" Damian ordered. "You will _not_ touch him again! I am more than capable of tending to him, now release me so I can ensure you have not already dealt him irreparable harm."

"You're joking, right?" Greg asked with a raised eyebrow.

Damian glared back. This was likely his only chance to access Drake's emergency beacon and he was not going to waste it.

"Kid -"

"What can it hurt?" Katie sighed. "You have to uncuff him in a minute anyway, and it's not like he can get past Mick and run away. He won't leave his brother, either, so what's the worst he's going to do?"

_Mick._ Another name revealed by their stupidity. Damian didn't give any indication that he'd noticed.

"This is ridiculous," Greg groused. "It's tipping a kid on his side, not giving him a sponge-bath! I'm not going to hurt him by touching his shoulder!"

Surfer-Man gave a small snort of amusement.

"Hon, it's not a big deal," Katie argued. "The little guy is probably scared."

Damian bristled at the notion that he was either little _or_ scared before realizing that it worked in his favour. He tried to change his scowl into a look of wide-eyed innocence. He'd been working with Richard on perfecting the expression, to varying degrees of success.

It was apparently enough to pass scrutiny at the moment, and Damian allowed himself a small moment of triumph.

"Fine. Do what you need to do," Greg said in exasperation. "If you try anything stupid, though, we'll start shooting. Got it?"

Damian nodded solemnly.

Greg stepped closer and pulled the handcuff key from his right front pocket. Damian turned to allow the man access to the cuffs.

"Shit, Katie, how tight did you make these?" Greg's voice betrayed a hint of annoyance. "We don't actually want his hands to fall off!"

"We didn't want him to slip out of the cuffs, either!" Katie protested.

Damian couldn't help the sound of relief he made as the tight metal cuffs were removed. He brought his hands around to his front, wincing slightly at the deep indentations in his skin.

"Sorry, kid," Greg muttered. He actually managed to sound contrite.

Damian scowled back at him, refusing to give in to the desire to rub his sore wrists. Instead, he shouldered his way past Greg and knelt at Drake's side.

_First things first . . ._

He reached out, brushing his fingers across Drake's neck to check his pulse. If Drake happened to be as dead as he looked, Damian would exact immediate and bloody vengeance on his behalf. After all, if Drake was to die, it should be at _Damian's_ hands, not through some accident due to the incompetence of a trio of amateur kidnappers.

Not that Damian had been actively seeking Drake's death lately. He hadn't made a serious attempt in _months_ \- not since he'd cut Drake's line that time . . .

A slow, steady heartbeat pulsed under his fingers and Damian tried not to acknowledge the relief he felt at that revelation.

Then again, if he was relieved, what of it? It just meant that he wouldn't have to deal with people crying or trying to hug him at Drake's funeral.

In any case, Drake was alive, which was both good news and bad. On the one hand, Damian wouldn't have to explain his demise to Father. On the other, he wasn't free to take down the three adults in the room with impunity, not without risking Drake's continued safety.

"See? He's fine." Greg made a motion for Damian to hurry up and Damian bit back the antagonistic reply that flitted to the tip of his tongue.

He reached down again and grabbed Drake's belt with one hand and his shoulder with the other. He tried to look natural despite the fact that he was painfully aware there was nothing natural about his position. There was nothing he could do about it, though.

He heaved the teenager slightly, covering the fact that his fingers were slipping under the belt buckle and looking for the switch that would call in the Bats.

As he rolled Drake onto his side, Damian frowned. _Where was the beacon_?

There was nothing under Drake's belt buckle.

Damian barely kept himself from cursing.

_It must be in Drake's watch_.

Damian eyed the glinting silver of the watchband peeking out from under Drake's sleeve. He reached over, intent on grabbing Drake's arm, but he found himself being lifted bodily away.

"Hey!" he cried, kicking at the figure who had dared to lay hands on him.

"Enough!" the driver said harshly. "We don't have time for this crap." He hauled Damian away from Drake, only releasing him to drop him at the base of a support pillar.

Damian glared up at him.

"You helped your brother, now shut up and behave."

"Mick!" Katie cried. "That's not really -"

Mick interrupted with a harsh laugh. "What? _Necessary_? I think it is. The kid's stalling. We need to call in the ransom demand and the longer we take to get our money, the worse things get for us. We also have to get the car before Rod tells the cops where it is and they find your damned passports in it. If they figure out who you are, you're not getting out of the country no matter how much money we get out of Wayne. Then they'll catch you and you'll both squeal like piglets within an hour. I'm not getting caught because you two are morons."

He grabbed Damian's arm, pulling him closer to the pillar. Damian bristled at the manhandling, ready to strike out -

Mick slammed him back, knocking his head against the concrete hard enough that Damian let out a noise of surprise and had to blink away blurriness in his vision from the impact.

"Gimme the cuffs," the driver demanded. Before Damian could come up with any kind of plan of attack, Mick had secured his arms around the pillar behind him, once again neglecting to double-lock them.

"Stay put and stay quiet," the driver ordered, ruffling Damian's hair as he stepped away.

Damian tugged uselessly at the cuffs and kicked out with one foot, just barely managing to clip Mick's leg with his toe.

As shows of defiance went, it was pretty pathetic.

Mick turned back to Damian, his movements deceptively slow. He pulled out his gun again and pointed it at Damian's head. "I'll give you that one for free, boy, but if you try it again, you'll regret it."

The other two adults watched the altercation with wide eyes, but Damian didn't spare them a second glance. They were nothing.

Oh, they'd managed to pull off a kidnapping, certainly, but there had been no real danger that they would do more than rough their victims up slightly. Katie's hesitance and her surprise at Greg's earlier bravado had been more than enough evidence of that.

The real threat was Mick.

The man moved as though casual violence was a way of life for him. He knew how to handle a weapon. He didn't care if he hurt someone.

And now he was in charge.

Mick held Damian's gaze for a moment longer, as though making certain his point was made. Damian, for his part, stayed very still and played the part of a terrified twelve-year-old as Mick finally lowered his gun and stepped aside.

He turned to the other adults in the room. "We're stepping things up. I'm going to make that phone call now. Wayne will wire the money, just like we planned. Greg, you're going to get the car and by the time you get back, we should be millionaires. We'll let Wayne know where to get the brats after we're on the road."

Damian glared at the man's back as he stepped over Drake and walked out of the office. Katie and Greg trailed after him, hesitating only slightly as though unsure of how things had taken such a sudden turn. They were in over their heads and were only now realizing it.

The door closed behind them, leaving Damian and Drake alone.

* * *

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5: Bruce gets a ransom call. Dick and Jason have differing views on how to stake out the getaway car.

When the phone finally rang, it was all Bruce could do to keep from answering it immediately. Jim held his hand over the phone, wordlessly reminding Bruce to wait for the second ring to give the team a chance to establish the trace. The technology was state-of-the-art by Gotham PD standards, but it was far from the best in the room.

Bruce had a true expert on the task.

"We've got this, B," Oracle said in his ear. "You're good to go."

Bruce didn't bother trying to hide his worry as he turned on the speaker. "Bruce Wayne."

"Mr. Wayne." The voice was male, but that was all that was immediately apparent. It was being run through a modifier, though Bruce had no doubts Barbara would have the recording cleaned up almost as soon as the man was done speaking. "I think you know why I'm calling."

"I want to talk to my boys," Bruce said firmly.

"They're fine."

Bruce clenched his jaw and forced himself to calm. "I want to talk to them."

"First, we need to discuss business. I'm going to give you an account number and you are going to transfer two hundred million dollars into it. After we receive confirmation that you've done this, we'll contact you again to tell you where your sons are."

"That's a lot of money," Bruce protested, hating the words even as they left his mouth. Jim had been very clear, though. He was to stall, and under no circumstances was he to give in to the first demand the kidnappers made.

Bruce knew the statistics. He was intimately acquainted with the finer points of negotiation, but even pretending to discuss a cash value for his children was enough to turn his stomach.

"You know as well as I do that higher ransoms have been paid for individuals in the past," the man countered, "I hardly think this is an insurmountable obstacle for a man of your . . . means. I also have _two_ of your kids, Mr. Wayne - I only need one. Don't make me use one of them as an example of how serious I am."

Bruce looked up, searching out Alfred on the other side of the room. Alfred's jaw was tight, and his pinched brow betrayed the depth of his concern, but he met Bruce's eyes evenly. He trusted Bruce to bring the boys home.

"I don't have that much money in liquid assets," he said, not having to fake the reluctance in his voice. If the kidnapper didn't like what Bruce was saying, there was no way to tell just how badly things were going to go.

"I guess you'd better find a way to get it then," the modified voice advised. "I'll contact you in an hour -"

"Wait!" Bruce cried. "I need to talk to my sons. I need to know they're okay."

There was a pause before muffled voices sounded in the background and Bruce could feel the tension in the room.

" _Father_?"

"Damian!" Bruce let out a harsh breath of relief at hearing Damian's voice. He'd hoped the boy had been left unharmed, but the uncertainty had been excruciating. Hearing him now, knowing that he was alive, was enough to have even Bruce Wayne's voice close to showing his emotions. "Are you okay?"

"These morons have not harmed me, Father, but Drake . . . _Timothy_ has been drugged. He does not look well."

Bruce had already known that Tim had been dosed with something, but hearing Damian's concern fanned the embers of rage he had been trying to push back. His knuckles creaked and Bruce realized just how tightly he was clenching his hands into fists.

"We're coming to get you, son," Bruce promised, keeping his voice even and confident. "Stay safe and-"

Damian made a noise of protest.

" _Damian_?"

"You have your proof of life, Mr. Wayne. Better get to work on liquidating some assets. I'll be in touch."

The phone clicked and went silent.

And Bruce saw red.

He was scarcely aware of Gordon calling instructions to his team. The office was a whirlwind of motion and he was utterly unmoving.

He was going to make that man pay; he was going to make him regret laying so much as a finger on those boys; he was going to make certain that he understood the error of his ways …

"I'm running everything now, B," Oracle said. She couldn't hide the concern in her voice, and likely she wasn't overly preoccupied with doing so. It was something Bruce appreciated about Barbara's professionalism - she didn't feel the need to pretend she wasn't worried and she didn't waste energy trying to pretend everything was okay. Barbara acknowledged her fears and worked through them. She was a true professional in every sense of the word. She wasn't immune to the fear that her friends, her _family_ , were in very real danger. That fear wouldn't stop her from doing her job, though, and she wouldn't let it slow her down. "I've got the location narrowed down to a four-block radius. I know it doesn't seem like much, but I'll close that circle down."

Bruce wanted to speak to her. He wanted to offer advice and run ideas by her - he wanted to run the search himself - but this was as close as he could get.

"Master Bruce." Alfred appeared at his side with all the stealth of a Bat. "I thought perhaps you might wish to talk me through your thoughts."

"Alfred," Bruce greeted him with relief. The older man was a genius. In speaking to him, Bruce could talk to Barbara with no one being the wiser. Anyone watching would only see Bruce Wayne taking comfort from an old friend. He reached out, putting his hand on Alfred's shoulder. The older man's presence was a godsend and Bruce was once again struck with the thought that he had no idea what he'd do without him. "It was a man, the modulator didn't disguise that. It also didn't disguise the echo of the room. Wherever they are, it's a large, open space."

"Probably concrete foundations," Oracle confirmed. "Most of that area is made up of old businesses that eventually closed up due to gang activity. We have some former storehouses, defunct shipping companies, a few small manufacturing plants . . . it's not quite the warehouse district, but there are a lot of places where a van could be stowed."

"Are any gangs still active in the area?" Bruce asked softly.

"Nothing excessive at the moment," Barbara replied. "The police have flagged a couple places as suspected drug dens and some storehouses for stolen goods, that kind of thing, but nothing that would stop our guys from coming and going as they please if they're careful about it."

"Anything else?"

"I'm working on the audio as we speak. The good news is that the modifier was used on the man's voice, likely through a handheld device, and not on the phone itself. That means I don't have to clean up the sound too much from when Damian was speaking. I'll check for background noises and see what I can come up with."

Bruce cleared his throat slightly. "What about boots on the ground?"

"Nightwing and Red Hood are already at the location that Rod Meyers gave them and they're staking out the getaway car. B, they are _really_ close to that four-block radius. As soon as I can give them a location, they will be there in a matter of minutes. These guys have no idea how close we are to crashing their party."

"Keep me posted," Bruce said and he heard a hum of acknowledgement before Barbara signed off.

Alfred was looking at him with an inscrutable expression.

"Don't worry, Alfred. We're going to get them back."

"Of that, Master Bruce, I have no doubt."

* * *

"Well, this is a bust," Jason griped. His helmet was off and his hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat.

Apparently the helmet was warm in the summer sun, though the fact that Jason didn't bother to remove his leather jacket had Dick sighing in exasperation. It was as though the younger man was actively trying to die of heatstroke. Even Dick was finding it uncomfortably warm, no doubt made worse by the fact that he and Jason had been travelling via rooftop. The physical exertion certainly wasn't helping them keep cool, but the alternative was using their motorcycles or the Batmobile to get around, which would definitely draw unwanted attention in the middle of the afternoon.

They were staking out the getaway car, which was parked unobtrusively by an abandoned storehouse, just as Rod Meyers had promised them. It had been a relief to find the car where it was supposed to be. Not that Dick thought for one second that the man could have lied to Jason, but if someone had boosted it in the interim, they would have been back to square one.

In a way, it already felt like they were back to where they started. For the second time that day, Nightwing and Red Hood were perched on top of a building in the blazing sun, waiting for something to happen so they could jump into action.

And just like before, the two had barely been waiting for ten minutes before Jason apparently decided that enough was enough.

"Screw this." He fastened the helmet back onto his head.

It was all the warning Dick got before Jason was in motion, heading out onto the fire escape with all the drive of a man on a mission.

"What are you doing?" Dick hissed, following his brother against his better judgement. "We're supposed to be waiting in _ambush,_ not standing beside the car to greet them when they show up!"

"They know their buddy squealed," Jason argued as he hammered his way down the stairs. "They aren't coming back for the stupid car. We may as well learn what we can from it instead of wasting time hanging out on the roof."

Dick groaned. "We _don't_ know that they aren't coming back! We've barely been here for ten minutes!"

"Trust me," Jason gave a metallic laugh from under his helmet, "only a moron would go back to a compromised location for a freakin' _car_. They could grab a new one anywhere and nobody would bat an eye because it's _Gotham_ and cars get stolen all the time."

"That doesn't mean -" Dick sighed, cutting off his protests as Jason reached the non-descript grey vehicle and wasted no time in breaking into the trunk.

Dick's arguments had already fallen on deaf ears as Jason proceeded to ransack the trunk for clues. He ripped open a suitcase and began pawing through the items inside, carelessly flinging them out of his way as needed.

Dick kept an eye on his surroundings as he moved to the passenger area, figuring he may as well help speed things along. It was short work to pop the lock and he eased himself into the seat. An open travel mug sat in the cup holder. The coffee inside had a disgusting ring of separated milk on the top of the scuzzy liquid and Dick absently wondered just how long it had been sitting there. There were several take-out bags with grease stains on them kicking around in the foot space and the car had the faint odour of stale fries and rancid ketchup.

He kicked the bags aside and started his search with the glove box, tossing aside maps and a box of tissue before coming to the paperwork. He flipped through the registration information with a small frown.

"This is their car," he called to Jason in disbelief. "The Grants used their own car; they left the paperwork in it."

Jason gave a snort in response. "So they either thought they wouldn't get identified from the security camera footage and we'd never find their getaway car, or they didn't care if we knew who they were and didn't bother to wipe the car clean."

"Either way, they aren't exactly the brightest of bulbs."

"That's a pretty fair assessment. Take a look at these." Jason walked to the side of the car, leaning over to hand Dick a small bundle.

"Their getaway money?"

Jason nodded. "Enough to buy a couple plane tickets at least. That's not all, though - look in the bag."

Dick reached into the small pouch and pulled out the contents with a sigh. "Passports? Let me guess . . ."

"You'd be right," Jason said with a shake of his head. "The passports are in their real names. Almost like they weren't worried about getting identified as kidnappers and stopped at the border."

"Is it just me, or are you feeling kind of stupid that we haven't already caught these guys?" Dick asked, scarcely believing what he was seeing.

"They do seem to be getting by more on luck than skill," Jason concurred. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one yet."

"Well, for them it's a good thing," Dick grumbled. "Despite confirming their identities, the car isn't exactly brimming with evidence as to where they are now, so we're no further ahead than we were an hour ago."

"Maybe I can help with that," Oracle said in his ear. Her voice was a welcome addition to the conversation.

"Always willing to take help from you, O," Nightwing grinned in relief. Barbara wouldn't have tapped into their comms unless she had new information. "What do you have for us?"

"The kidnappers made contact with the ransom demand. I have a search radius now and a recording of the call for you to listen to."

"Copy that. Give us a minute to get to higher ground," Dick requested. He didn't like sitting around in the open in broad daylight, and from the lack of argument from Jason, his brother wasn't opposed to a change of location.

Jason grabbed the passports out of Dick's hand, tucking them away in a pocket for safekeeping. Dick pretended not to notice that Jason slipped the money into his pocket, too.

Dick planted a tracker in the glove box and slipped from the vehicle, only pausing briefly to give the car a quick once-over to make sure it looked as though it hadn't been touched.

Red Hood wasn't being nearly so careful.

Jason made a half-hearted effort to sweep the loose clothing he'd ransacked back into the trunk before slamming the lid down. He wasn't entirely successful, leaving several colourful scraps of clothing dangling from the back of the car. It looked like the clothes were trying to escape their metal prison.

"Really?" Dick asked, incredulously.

Jason shrugged.

Dick let it go and led the way back to the fire escape, not bothering to check if Jason was following. The younger man wanted to bust some heads, and figuring out the location of said heads to bust was very high on his to-do list. They made the climb up to the roof in record time. "Okay, Oracle. We're ready."

The playback began and Dick found himself clenching his fists. Everything sounded fairly typical, from the kidnapper's high ransom demand opening, to Bruce's stalling.

It was when Damian's voice came on the line that Dick couldn't help but react. He reached out instinctively, his fingers coming to clutch Red Hood's jacket in an inescapable grip. For his part, Jason never tried to shrug him off.

Damian sounded so _young_ and Dick hated that he was facing the situation at all. He was supposed to be hanging out with Bruce and having fun, not trying to keep himself and Tim from getting murdered by kidnappers.

There was, of course, an undeniable wave of relief that he was still alive, not that Dick had allowed himself to entertain any other possibility, but the feeling was quickly quashed under the reality that Damian was not even close to being safe. It didn't matter that the kidnappers were amateurs. It didn't matter that the Bats were closing in. Circumstances could chance in seconds and that was all that it would take for one or both of the boys to be hurt or killed. It was intolerable.

Dick tried to force himself to remain calm. He and Jason were going to get there in time. They were going to save their brothers and the kids would be fine.

It was only a matter of time.

Oracle came back on when the recording was finished. "I've narrowed down the search area and it's close to you guys. I'm sending you the information now."

"Oracle, did you find anything on this Mick guy?" Jason asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Nothing yet," she replied. "I've been trying to find links in social media, but if they knew each other before all this, as far as I can tell it isn't in the public eye."

Jason started to say something else, but a flash of movement caught Dick's eye and he silenced the other man with a raised hand.

Dick inched closer to the edge of the roof, letting a slow grin cross his features. "Well, will you look at that . . ."

A man was approaching the kidnapper's car, carefully scanning his surroundings as he hurried forward. Luckily, he never looked up.

"What's happening?" Oracle asked.

"We have movement at the car," Dick replied. "Looks like one of our guys is here to pick it up. We can track him back to the others, collect our birds, and be back in time for dinner."

"Doesn't mean he's our guy," Jason groused, sounding slightly off-put that his assumptions about the kidnappers ditching the car had been incorrect. "He could just be looking to steal the car and-"

The man pulled out his key as he hurried to the trunk.

Dick raised an eyebrow at his brother and Jason responded by holding up a middle finger.

The man stopped in his tracks as he spotted the clothing hanging from the back of the trunk, his surprise evident as he looked around once more.

"Well, shit," Jason cursed. "Bet you your motorcycle that he's gonna do a runner."

"I'm not taking that bet!" Dick protested.

The man hesitated briefly before he abruptly turned and ran, racing away from the vehicle as fast as he could in the direction from which he had come.

Nightwing and Red Hood were in motion immediately, keeping to the rooftops as they followed the man's retreat.

"Oracle, we're in pursuit of one of the kidnappers," Dick reported. "He's probably heading back to their hideout."

"Copy that," Oracle replied. "I'm tracking your movements and I'll use your headings to see if I can pinpoint the location before he gets there."

"Forget the cat-and-mouse crap - I'm all for giving him a beat-down," Jason said. "He'll tell us where they are one way or another."

"Either way, we have to make sure he doesn't get a chance to alert the others," Dick warned. "The last thing we need is for them to take off with Tim and Damian again."

The man lunged to the side and disappeared from view, ducking inside the warehouse through a half-broken door.

"So much for keeping him in sight!" Jason cursed again. "You stay high, I'll go low."

"Don't kill him!" Dick warned even as Jason made his way to ground level. There was no time to mess around. Dick needed to get ahead of their quarry just in case he came out somewhere other than expected. He didn't anticipate the man being clever enough to dodge either of his pursuers for long, but he'd been lucky multiple times already that day.

Only one thing mattered now - this man knew where his little brothers were. They were so close and Dick had no intention of failing.

* * *

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 - Damian gets a chance to work on his interpersonal skills and finds it harder than it sounds.

(I'm sorry. There's a lot of talking in this chapter … I spent the last two days rewriting it and I'm still not completely happy with it. There will be more action in the next chapter!)

* * *

Damian growled in frustration as he struggled with the handcuffs. His back was pressed tightly against the cold concrete pillar, which was just big enough around that his pinioned hands couldn't reach one another. Not only was it uncomfortable, it made it impossible for him to break his thumb to free himself. All he had succeeded in doing was making himself increasingly angry as the cuffs pulled painfully around his wrists.

He scowled at the figure still passed out on the floor. "Now would be a very good time for you to wake up and make yourself useful, Drake."

There was, of course, no reply. Drake still looked more dead than alive. His breathing was too shallow for Damian to see, and there had been no signs of the older boy waking.

How long had it been since they'd been taken? Damian was guessing it was over two hours or so, possibly closer to three, but he wasn't certain anymore. Was it normal that Drake was still out cold or was something wrong?

It wasn't completely unexpected, of course. The kidnappers had mentioned that he would likely remain unconscious for the duration of their original scheme, but it still annoyed Damian that Drake could remain so utterly unhelpful and expect others to save him. That was the only reason he was pondering the possible duration of the effects of the drug. He certainly wasn't _worried._ After all, Drake was notoriously sleep-deprived; the drugs were probably just giving him the nap that the cranky teen so clearly needed most of the time.

It didn't matter anyway. Father was going to come very soon and after taking down the bad guys, he would see to it that Drake received medical attention.

There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing else he could do in that regard, anyway. The ransom call had already been made and it had more than likely provided a great deal of information that would result in Father tracking down their location.

The call itself had been decidedly unpleasant, particularly since Damian hated being seen as anything less than a competent figure in any scenario. Being tied up and forced to play the hostage was not something he enjoyed. That said, hearing his father's voice had been oddly comforting. There had never been any doubt in Damian's mind that Father would move heaven and earth to find them. Obviously, Batman would never leave his partners to the mercy of their captors, and Father would never leave his sons, but it was still encouraging to know just how furious both figures were on behalf of Damian and Drake. The kidnappers might not have noticed the steel in Bruce Wayne's voice for what it was, but Damian had. It promised vengeance, justice, and a great deal of blunt-force trauma to the people who dared to hurt his family.

Damian was looking forward to that.

He paused in his escape attempts when the door to the office clicked open and Katie walked in.

She stood silently in the doorway for a moment, meeting Damian's gaze briefly before looking down at Drake.

"Don't touch him," Damian growled harshly, the venom in his voice surprising himself as much as Katie. He was absolutely done with people manhandling the unconscious teen. In the past few hours, Drake had been drugged, dragged around, threatened with a gun, and dropped on the ground. His treatment was an insult to Father's name and could not be tolerated. The vigilante in Damian also strongly disapproved of the situation. As a helpless civilian, Drake was under Robin's protection, and though Katie couldn't possibly know that was the case, Damian was not going to allow the kidnappers to harm Drake again. He wasn't certain how he would do anything to prevent it given his present predicament, but he would find a way to make the kidnappers regret their cavalier attitudes.

For her part, Katie gave a small start of surprise at Damian's vehemence, but nodded her understanding. She turned her attention away from Drake and instead leaned against the rickety desk with a sigh. She pulled the gun out of her pocket and set it on the table, regarding it sombrely. "I'm sorry for all of this. You shouldn't have to deal with any of it." She didn't look at him, but her words nevertheless seemed sincere.

Of all the things for her to say, that hadn't been what Damian expected.

"It was supposed to be so easy," she continued quietly. "My husband made some bad choices . . . _no._ That's not fair. We _both_ made some bad choices and it put us in a difficult position. We were just trying to fix things."

"That's hardly my problem," Damian replied with disdain.

Katie shrugged. "You're not wrong. I guess I just wanted to say sorry. You seem like a good kid. The way you tried to protect your brother, well, it was pretty amazing. I just wanted you to know that I never meant for it to turn out like this."

She stood up and Damian was suddenly struck by the realization that she had been about to reveal potentially important information and he had shut her down. Richard would have despaired at his interpersonal skills, but it wasn't too late to salvage the situation.

"What bad choices?" Damian asked, trying not to sound too forceful. "I mean, obviously kidnapping was not wise, but you were referring to something else?"

Katie glanced over her shoulder as though worried that Mick would hear her. "All of this happened because Greg's brother, Casey, got into some trouble with the wrong people and he owed them a lot of money. They beat him almost to death and told him if he didn't pay up, they were going to kill him. When Greg found out, he nearly lost his mind."

Damian frowned. "That seems like a completely reasonable response to finding out that a member of your family had nearly been murdered."

"It was a bit surprising to be honest. They were never close," Katie admitted with a shrug. "They had different mothers, so they never even grew up together. It was just in the last year or so that they started connecting, you know? I encouraged it at first, but that was before I knew that Casey had a gambling problem and boosted cars to pay his debts. By the time I realized what kind of crowd he ran with, it was too late - Greg was invested and wanted to keep Casey safe."

"That also seems reasonable," Damian mused. "Don't brothers typically overlook crimes and personal failings when it comes to matters of life and death?"

Katie gave him a strange look. "I think when your brother brings organized crime bosses to your door, it's probably considered an acceptable reason to cut your losses and run. But, you're right, Greg couldn't let Casey get murdered, and I couldn't very well stand by and let anything happen to Greg. And after I saw Casey in that hospital bed…" Katie frowned at the memory, glancing down at Drake briefly before seemingly remembering that she wasn't supposed to. She looked back at Damian. "When I saw him so hurt, my heart broke. I thought about how I would have felt if it had been _my_ little brother lying there and I made up my mind that I would do whatever it took to help Greg save his brother. Even with his debt paid off, Casey will probably never fully recover; that's how badly they hurt him. The fact that people could do that to another human being makes me so angry."

"I'm …" Damian hesitated. He had been about to say _sorry_ that Casey had been injured, but he wasn't really. How far did he have to go to establish a rapport with Katie? He had to commiserate, but lying would be the surest way to ruin that tenuous connection. "Gotham has far too many people willing to harm others for personal gain," he said instead, trying to sound sympathetic. In any case, it was the truth and Katie could hardly argue the point.

Except for if she took the comment personally, which she apparently did.

She flushed in sudden anger. "We needed a lot of money in a hurry; what else could we have done? Don't you understand? They were going to _murder_ Casey! We couldn't abandon him to that!"

"And this was your plan to save him?" Damian couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. It was beyond insanity to expect that kidnapping Timothy Drake would have solved all their problems. If anything, it would have _increased_ them! Notwithstanding the fact that it was a very good way to draw the attention of Batman, it was also a good way to attract a lot of media coverage as well. Most of the world saw Drake as Bruce Wayne's son and the fact that he held a corner office at Wayne Enterprises made him a notable figure in his own right. His kidnapping would undoubtedly make global news. At the very least, stills from security footage would be used to plaster the kidnappers' faces on every screen in every airport and bus terminal in the country until the media tired of sensationalizing the event. That could take anywhere from mere days to months. By the time the news networks were done with the story, Katie, Greg, and Mick would be almost as famous as their hapless victim, and getting out of the country would be next to impossible. Kidnapping Drake might get them some money in the short term, but there was no way any of the kidnappers were getting out of this situation without handcuffs.

All in all, it had been a terrible plan.

Katie took a deep breath. "We just needed the money so badly and we thought it would be easy. Bruce Wayne has lots of money - he would barely miss it. A few hours, a bank account number so we don't have to pick up the money in person . . . it would be over quickly and nobody would get hurt."

Damian gave a pointed glance to Drake before turning back to Katie. "You seem to be failing on several counts."

"He'll be fine," Katie protested. "The man who gave me the syringe said the drug would keep him under until we were finished. He'll wake up right as rain in awhile."

"And you just blindly trusted this contact? How did he arrive at his time estimate for the duration of the effects?" Damian demanded. "Did he even tell you what the drug _was_? Did your _contact_ arrange for a dose appropriate to someone of Timothy's size? Did he account for his general state of health and the fact that he doesn't have a spleen?"

Katie paled. "Would the lack of a spleen change things?"

Damian paused. He hadn't really thought about it before he said it, but . . . no.

_Probably not_.

_Maybe_.

He had planted a seed of doubt in Katie's mind, though, and he couldn't afford to waste it.

Instead, he shrugged as best he could, trying once again to make himself appear young and earnest. "I don't know; I'm only twelve. What I do know is that Timothy is not yet a full-grown adult and you need to account for body mass when administering drugs. If you didn't do that, Timothy could be in very real danger."

He didn't like how close to the truth _that_ statement was. From the sickened look on her face, neither did Katie.

"You need to call for help before something happens to him," Damian prompted. "An ambulance, the police . . . you could even just drop him at a clinic somewhere and they'll help him."

Katie was already shaking her head. "We need him for just a little longer. Then we'll call your dad and he can come get you both. It'll be fine."

"It won't be fine," Damian replied firmly.

Katie looked away miserably. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to do."

"Let us go." The answer was so simple, it was all Damian could do to avoid calling her an imbecile to her face. If she wanted to assuage her guilt, she had only to make a phone call or free Damian's hands from the cuffs and she could be well on her way to making herself feel better.

"I can't," Katie protested, shaking her head vehemently. "I'm so, so sorry, but I can't. Mick will _freak out_."

Damian leaned forward as much as he could. "If you don't let us go, Mick will kill us. Do you understand me? He will not let us live."

"Nobody is going to get hurt-"

"Look at my brother and tell me nobody is going to get hurt!" Damian growled. "Mick is violent. You've seen him. Do you honestly think he's going to let any of us go? Do you think he's going to let you keep your share of the money and walk away?"

"That's the plan-"

Damian let out a bitter laugh. "He's a thug! This is not the first time he's broken the law, nor is it the first time he's held a gun on someone! How did you even meet him? Where is he from? Do you know _anything_ about him?"

"He came … recommended," Katie said hesitantly, "by the man who Casey owes the money to."

" _What_?" Damian stared in disbelief. "You were given Mick's services at the orders of the man who had your brother-in-law beaten?"

"When we told him how we planned to get the money to pay him back. he agreed to give us time to do it. Mick was sent along to make sure we got the job done without complications," Katie explained. "So, yes, Mick is connected to some shady people, but we needed him. He's our driver; he knows the streets and shortcuts, and he isn't afraid of darting through traffic. He's actually been really helpful - it was his idea to get the van. We were just going to use the car, but he talked us out of it."

Damian resisted the urge to groan. Drake had almost gotten himself kidnapped by an incompetent couple in a commuter car. The white van was only mildly less embarrassing, but still . . .

"Really? He _helped_ you?" Damian said instead. "He doesn't seem to value your input very much."

"He's just better at this-"

"He was sent to watch you by the man who nearly killed your brother-in-law! How can you possibly believe that he has your best interests at heart? Are you so naïve that you believe he'll let you go when all this is done?" Damian shook his head. "Two hundred million dollars is a lot of money and his boss doesn't seem the type to share. You think he sent Mick to help you? That isn't how criminals work. I am telling you that he is here to collect the money and get rid of the witnesses - _all_ the witnesses - and I think you may already suspect that."

Katie stared at Damian as though seeing him for the first time.

"I'm not stupid and I'm not wrong," Damian said firmly.

Katie nodded slowly, a flicker of fear showing in her eyes. "You may be right."

Damian felt a surge of triumph. So much for being a demon-brat with no people skills! Todd would soon be eating his words as Damian regaled him with a tale of how he'd successfully turned one of the kidnappers away from the others. The thought brought him immense pleasure, but he couldn't celebrate yet. "We need to leave now."

Katie stood, but anything she had been about to say or do was forgotten as the door was opened abruptly with so much force it rebounded off the wall and began to swing closed again.

Mick stormed in, agitation practically dripping form his features as he took in the scene in front of him. He frowned, but didn't ask what Katie was doing. "We need to leave. _Now_."

His voice was hard and brokered no argument. The large man bent over, and he grabbed Drake's arm and pulled the unconscious teen into a sitting position.

"What's going on?" Katie demanded, retrieving her gun from the desk. She gripped it nervously as she watched Mick.

"Greg called," Mick growled. He gave another tug and heaved Drake over his shoulder.

"Put him down, you ignorant Neanderthal!" Damian seethed.

Mick didn't spare Damian a glance. "He said someone had been in the car and that the trunk was ransacked. Then he screamed something about the Red Hood before the call cut out."

Damian couldn't hide the relieved grin that escaped him despite the fact that neither he nor Drake were out of danger. As vexing as the idea of assistance usually was, he wasn't about to turn it down this time.

"Oh no," Katie breathed. "Where is he? What's happening?"

"What's happening is that your husband is not coming back and we're leaving right now. We can still get the money if we can get away before Red Hood gets here. Grab the other kid and move your ass."

Katie stood in shocked silence as Mick stormed back towards the door with Drake draped over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

"Katie, let me out of these," Damian ordered as he strained against his cuffs. "Get me out, now! You can't let him take Timothy - he'll kill him!"

He swore as Mick stopped abruptly and turned back to face him. "And you think you're gonna stop that, kid? It was only supposed to be this kid, but your ticket was punched the second you decided to play the hero. Come along quietly and you'll live another hour or so at least."

Damian did not feel any pride at all in being proven right so quickly. He looked to Katie pointedly and raised an eyebrow. He wondered if saying 'I told you so' would be considered gauche.

Katie lifted her shaking hand to her mouth. She turned from Mick back to Damian. "I'm so sorry. Greg has the keys. I can't get you out. I'm sorry."

Damian shook his head in disbelief. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mick growled. "You don't have the keys? You let Greg leave while he still had the damn keys?"

Katie backed away from him, her face red from the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

Mick pulled out his gun. "Then he dies now."

The words hit Katie with enough force that she visibly staggered. She moved slightly in front of Damian, an action that surprised him given the fact that Katie was clearly terrified of Mick.

Mick didn't back down. "He's a liability, Katie. He's seen our faces. You and Greg have screwed this up in so many ways-"

"I didn't hear _you_ telling us to wear masks!" Katie cried.

Even from his partially protected position, Damian could see Mick's face twist in anger. "If we can't bring the kid, we need to put a bullet in him. It's nothing personal; it's just business. Move aside."

Damian twisted his hands, trying desperately to free himself. He was not going to die pinned to a pathetic concrete pillar - he _refused._

"Red Hood is coming," Katie whispered in terror. "You know what people say about him. What do you think he's going to do to people who kill kids?"

"To be honest, probably the same thing I do to people who kidnap them." The metallic voice of the Red Hood had Katie screeching in horror as Mick whirled and stepped back from the open doorway.

The vigilante stood perfectly framed in the opening with a gun in each hand. He held both guns at the ready, one pointed at Katie and the other trained on Mick, yet he still somehow managed to look like he'd been on a casual stroll somewhere and just happened upon the scene.

Mick didn't make a sound. Even as he moved away from Red Hood, the kidnapper slid Tim's body off his shoulder and positioned himself behind his unconscious hostage. His gun came to rest on the side of Tim's lolling head.

"That said, I'm not having a bad day so far. I might be willing to let people live." That was probably as close to negotiation as Hood would get. He would not risk the lives of his brothers, of that Damian was certain. If it meant breaking Father's no-killing rule to save them, Todd wouldn't hesitate.

The youngest Wayne watched the scene intently. Anyone else would have been unable to see the barely-controlled anger that manifested in Hood's stance as he directed his attention at the man holding his brother, but to Damian, it was evident.

Hood looked towards Mick. "You know how it goes - easy way, hard way, _yadda yadda yadda_. Make your first smart decision of the day and put the kid down."

Damian could see Mick tightening his grip on Drake. The gunman's shoulders squared and he shook his head purposefully. "How about you make me?"

"You really want to play it like this?" Red Hood asked with a sigh.

Mick pressed the gun closer to Drake's face. "I think we have ourselves a good, old-fashioned standoff, Mr. Hood, and the only question left is which one of us is going to flinch first?"

* * *

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 - Dick and Jason may have found their brothers, but that doesn't mean everyone is safe …

_Going back in time a little bit to when Nightwing and Red Hood chased their suspect into the warehouse …_

* * *

Oracle was a genius. There was no other word for it.

Even as Red Hood chased the suspect into the warehouse, even as Oracle's earlier words about tracking their movements were still echoing in Nightwing's ears, she suddenly came back on comms with a exclamation of surprise.

"I think I have something!" she said. "My original search on the Grants didn't turn up much because they're annoyingly squeaky-clean for kidnappers, but I expanded the search parameters back to their parents and that's when I caught it."

"Caught what?" Nightwing was paying attention, but he didn't stop running. He still needed to get ahead of the suspect.

"Greg's father had a kid with another woman, so Greg has a younger half-brother out there. Different last names, different upbringings - I almost didn't find it at all. I wasn't certain that anything would come of it, but I've been running the brother's background and I found that he has ties to organized crime. One of his known associates was Alan Reynolds, who ran a chop shop-"

"I remember him," Nightwing interjected in surprise. "He and his crew were killed in a turf war. It was a bloodbath - the entire city was up in arms about it and Batman had his work cut out for him just trying to get it under control."

"And guess where that chop shop is?"

"In your four-block radius?" Nightwing surmised.

"You got it," Oracle replied. "It's an abandoned building, close to the location where they stashed the getaway car, has ties to the kidnappers …"

"And most criminals avoid the location with almost superstitious fear. Nobody wants to end up like Alan Reynolds. O, that could be it!" Nightwing said. "You're a genius!"

"It's not confirmed," Oracle warned.

"Leave that to me," Dick replied. He shot a grapple and swung himself down to ground level as he reached the front of the building. Clearly nobody had beaten him to the doorway. He ducked inside. "Hood?"

The sound of a fist striking flesh met his ears and Dick winced. Jason wasn't pulling his punches much - only enough to make certain his suspect stayed conscious.

"Where are they?" Red Hood growled from behind his helmet. "Tell me where you took those kids!"

"Please!" the man begged. "I can't. We need them for just a little while longer. We won't hurt them, I swear!"

"You'll notice that I'm not making the same promise about you," Hood replied. He pulled the man closer by his collar.

"Greg?" Nightwing interrupted once he got close enough. "That's your name, right? Greg Grant? You may as well answer his questions. We know who you are and we know about Katie and Mick. We know all about your half-brother and Alan Reynold's chop-shop-"

"What? How could you possibly know all that? Even _we_ didn't know we were going there!" Greg cried, his legs giving out beneath him as he allowed himself to crumple to the floor in shock. It was as much of a confirmation as Dick could hope for. "Please just give us a little more time! We need the money or they'll kill him!"

"Kill who?" Red Hood demanded in confusion.

"My brother!" Greg said tremulously. "If we don't pay them back, they're going to murder him!"

Nightwing and Red Hood glanced at each other.

"Oracle?" Nightwing asked quietly.

There was a soft sigh. "I'll add it to the list. Right now, though, you have bigger problems."

Red Hood snorted. "That's an understatement, O."

Nightwing looked down at the man crumpled at Red Hood's feet. "We will look into your brother's situation," Nightwing promised, "but right now, we need to go."

Greg didn't get a chance to reply. Red Hood wasted no time securing the hapless kidnapper to a railing to await the police. Greg, for his part, stayed on his knees and let his head slump forward despondently. Even as the vigilantes left him, Greg was still whispering broken apologies to the brother he had failed to save and to the wife who was about to face arrest and imprisonment for her part in his venture.

Dick had to remind himself that they'd brought it on themselves. He understood the desire to protect family, but Greg's quest to save his brother had put Dick's own brothers in jeopardy, and that was something Dick could not condone. If Tim and Damian were hurt, there was no amount of sympathy that would protect the guilty party from his rage.

"I think he might have gotten off a phone call before I got him," Hood admitted, pulling Dick out of his dark thoughts as they rushed out of the building. "We might not have a lot of time."

Nightwing frowned. "We'll just have to make sure we get there before they manage to figure out a new plan."

"Or before they leave with the kids," Jason added. "If they take off again, we're back to square one."

"Not gonna happen," Nightwing vowed. "We're getting them out and we're doing it now."

At a full run, Nightwing and Red Hood were only minutes away from the chop shop where their brothers were being held. They were _so close_ to saving Tim and Damian …

They ran the rest of the way in silence, only pausing when they reached the chop-shop and decided to split up to enter the building. From the outside, it looked unoccupied and derelict; there was no sign that anyone had been there in years. If it hadn't been for Oracle's research and Greg's unintentional confirmation, Dick would never have pegged it as the place where his brothers were being held.

He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline take him as he left Red Hood's side. With any luck, this would all be over in a matter of minutes. If they played their cards right, they could surround the kidnappers before they even knew the vigilantes were there, and they would stand a better chance of avoiding unnecessary violence … at least until they could make sure their brothers were out of the line of fire. Either way, Nightwing had no illusions about his ability to curtail Red Hood's more violent tendencies should things go wrong.

While Red Hood took the main entrance, Nightwing went for the row of windows along the side. They were up fairly high, but it was only a matter of grappling to the roof so he could lower himself down to dangle by the dirty glass panes. They were partially covered in yellowed newspaper, but there were enough tears and holes that he could see what was going on inside.

The first thing that caught his eye was the large form of Mick standing near the door. He had a motionless Tim slung carelessly over one shoulder even as he gesticulated angrily at Katie. Dick frowned in concern. An argument between kidnappers was rarely a good sign. Dick changed his angle, looking for another gap in the newspaper so he could find Damian.

It wasn't hard to spot him. The youngest Wayne was not fully visible, but Dick could see a pillar with a pair of small hands drawn back around it and handcuffed in place. It took considerable effort, but Dick didn't let himself get angry at the way his brothers were being treated. There would be time for that later. Right now, he needed to get inside.

Dick silently pried one of the windows open and proceeded to squeeze himself through the narrow opening. There was a brief moment where he wondered if his shoulders would fit, but he managed to twist his body enough to shimmy through. He found stable footing atop the metal shelving that covered the wall and he took a moment to take stock of the situation.

It hadn't taken Dick long to enter the building, but even in that short time, circumstances had changed.

Damian was struggling against his cuffs, trapped in the open and unable to run for cover should the need arise - and the need had definitely arisen.

Tim was being used as a human shield by Mick as the kidnappers were engaged in a three-way standoff with Red Hood. Two hostages, two hostiles, and a gun-toting Red Hood - there were far too many firearms around his little brothers for Dick's liking.

Dick took in the distance between himself and the gunman holding Tim. Could he get to him before the man managed to shoot anyone? He couldn't afford to startle anyone into panicked shooting -

"Hey, Nightwing, are you gonna join the party or what?"

Dick frowned as Red Hood called him down from his perch. Clearly, Jason didn't want him to risk an attack from above. Whatever he had seen in Mick's eyes, Jason wasn't taking any chances. Dick wasn't inclined to disagree. At least with both of them on the ground, it would allow them to divide the focus of the kidnappers and he would be able to protect Damian from stray bullets.

"Not going to lie, this is a pretty sad party," Nightwing admitted as he dropped silently to the ground. "Nobody looks very happy to be here."

The woman, Katie, looked exhausted. The gun in her hand shook as her fingers turned white around the grip. She didn't look intent on shooting anyone, but that didn't make her any less dangerous.

With Nightwing in the room, Red Hood focused all his attention on the man holding Tim, leaving Dick to deal with looking after Damian.

Nightwing stepped closer to his youngest brother, not pulling his eyes from Katie as she watched him anxiously. She still didn't look inclined to use her weapon, but he kept himself positioned between her and Damian regardless, partially blocking him from her view. "You okay, kid?"

Damian nodded. "That man intends to kill everyone."

Red Hood gave a snort from across the room. "That was my assessment, too. It's okay, though. I haven't shot anyone yet today, so I'm feeling pretty good about this. My trigger finger was getting itchy."

"Stay low and get out of sight," Nightwing muttered to Damian as he reached over and deftly picked the locks on the handcuffs. Dick then moved fully in front of his brother. Damian gave a small noise of protest at the fact that he could no longer see everything that was going on, but other than that, he kept quiet and obediently lowered himself to the ground and behind the pillar to get out of the immediate line of fire.

Nightwing was grateful. His youngest brother clearly chafed at being ordered out of the action, but Damian Wayne could hardly be seen standing with Nightwing and Red Hood during a hostage standoff. Dick would definitely hear about it later, but for now, Damian had no choice but to wait it out from relative safety like a normal kid.

"Put down the gun," Red Hood ordered, his gaze fixed on Mick with what should have been unnerving intensity.

"You're going to let me walk out of here," Mick countered, "or I'm going to repaint the walls with this kid's grey matter."

"Do that and I'll drop you."

Mick gave a half shrug. "Maybe, but at least you'll have lost. I'll count that as a win."

The words chilled Dick to the bone, but he didn't have the luxury of engaging Mick while Katie was still armed and near panicked. She was just as likely to shoot someone accidentally as Mick was to do it deliberately. Dick forced himself to turn away from the man holding his brother at gunpoint, and he approached Katie cautiously. "You need to give me that gun," he said carefully. "This doesn't have to end badly."

"Did you kill my husband?" Katie asked tearfully. "He's not a bad man; he just made some bad decisions -"

"Greg is alive, Katie," Nightwing assured her. "I promise you that he's not hurt."

There was an unspoken _much_ that lingered at the end of that sentence. Red Hood had, after all, made his displeasure known with at least a couple of good punches when he was interrogating Greg. Nightwing grimaced slightly. He probably should have stopped with simply assuring Katie that her husband was alive rather than adding that he wasn't hurt. It would have been more accurate.

Katie nodded shakily and lowered her gun into Nightwing's outstretched hand. "I'm so sorry. I just want this to be over."

Dick gripped her arm and firmly pulled her back, well out of the way of Mick's line of sight and hopefully away from any bullets that might start flying. "Stay down, no matter what."

Katie huddled behind the desk. It looked like it was made of particle board and would probably break if someone so much as looked at it wrong. It wouldn't stop bullets, that much was certain, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. He focused his attention back to the standoff happening near the door. Turning his back on Katie was probably not the best course of action, but his gut told him that she wasn't likely to try anything, and Damian would certainly be keeping an eye on her regardless. He would raise the alarm if Katie decided to go rogue.

"Looks like your numbers are dwindling. It's just you and me now, buddy," Red Hood said lightly as he moved so that both weapons were pointed at Mick. "You gonna let the kid go, or do I have to see if I can get a red mist shot from two metres away?"

Nightwing moved closer, circling the gunman so the he couldn't focus on both vigilantes at the same time. He carefully kept himself out of Red Hood's line of fire. He was fairly certain that Jason was working with non-lethal rounds, but _fairly certain_ wasn't the same thing as _entirely certain_. Either way, he needed to be close enough to grab Tim should the opportunity arise and the desire to make that opportunity sooner rather than later was strong.

It was the first chance he'd had to see his younger brother clearly, and Dick was not in any way reassured by Tim's pale face and lax features. The teen was sagging limply in Mick's vice-like hold, completely unaware of his situation. If Dick hadn't known better, he would have thought him already dead. He spared a brief glance at Hood and could tell from Jason's tense stance that he was having the same thoughts.

Nightwing slid his eskrima sticks into his grip, more than ready to move at the slightest provocation. "Let him go."

Mick didn't look over to him. He didn't so much as move his gaze from Red Hood's helmet. The man was a professional, that much was obvious. It took an iron will to avoid panicking when faced with two of Gotham's infamous vigilantes.

Mick shook his head slightly. "I'm walking out of here."

"Not with a hostage, you aren't," Hood countered.

"And I suppose you'll just let me leave if I let you have him?" Mick scoffed. "He's the only thing standing between me and a jail cell right now. Or a body bag."

Nightwing watched the exchange intently. His options were limited; he wanted to shock Mick with his eskrima stick, but without knowing Tim's condition, the shock could end up hurting his brother, too. Likewise, attempting to subdue Mick with a strike might cause him to shoot reflexively. All he needed was an opening - if Mick took his gun from Tim's head for so much as a second, Dick would be able to drop him without risking Tim's life.

He just needed a distraction . . .

Dick eased some smoke pellets out his gauntlet. He held them low behind him to warn Damian before giving a slow nod to Jason that he was about to try something.

Jason gave no outward indication that he was paying any attention whatsoever to Nightwing, but Dick knew he'd be ready.

With a practiced hand, Dick threw the pellets on the ground. Mick cursed as the room started to fill with smoke and instinctively turned his weapon to his biggest threat - Red Hood.

Jason was already moving, dodging to the left as Mick moved to fire, but Dick was even faster. The impact of his stick against Mick's head was enough to stagger the gunman and his weapon clattered to the ground.

Even as Mick dropped to his knees, Red Hood was reaching forward and wrenching Tim from the man's suddenly weakened grasp.

Nightwing wasted no time driving the kidnapper to the ground and securing his hands behind his back. There was next to no visibility in the room anymore, and Dick could hear Damian guiding a distraught Katie towards the door.

"Get them out of the room," he told Hood. "I've got this one."

Jason grunted in acknowledgement and swept Tim up in his arms to get him out of the smoke-filled room.

Nightwing glared down at the man who had very nearly murdered his brothers. Mick would never know how lucky he was that he hadn't been left in a room alone with Red Hood.

It was an easy task to drag the barely-conscious man out of the office and into the larger area just beyond. Nightwing let Mick drop to the ground unceremoniously as he closed the door to the office; no sense letting the entire building get filled with smoke. He spared a brief glance for Katie, who was huddled against the white van with a stunned expression on her face. The day clearly had not gone the way she had intended.

Damian and Jason were standing over Tim, and that was where Dick needed to be.

"Don't go anywhere," he warned Katie firmly as he made his way to his brothers. He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder, hating the fact that he had to pretend that Damian meant nothing more to him than any other victim. All he wanted to do was sweep the boy into a hug and it was killing him to keep him at arm's length. "Are you okay?"

Damian nodded and reached up to grip Dick's wrist. "Timothy is not well. They drugged him with something and he has yet to give any indication of regaining consciousness."

"Pulse is slow, he's cold, and I don't like his colour," Jason added. "That's what? Nearly three hours and he's still under?"

"You need to take him," Damian said firmly, looking up at Dick with an intense gaze. "They don't even know how much of the drug they gave him. He needs a hospital."

"We came by rooftop," Dick replied with growing worry. "We couldn't bring the Batmobile in daylight."

He pondered their options. Swinging with an unconscious passenger for any great distance was hardly the easiest thing in the world to do. Then again, there was the kidnappers' van right there …

Red Hood shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Tim.

Dick clenched his jaw tightly. "Oracle?"

Barbara answered immediately, clearly having been monitoring the situation. "Police and ambulance are already on their way. ETA is about six minutes."

Dick turned to Damian. "Help will be here in six minutes. That's better than Red Hood and I slinging him along like a sack of potatoes. It would take us longer than six minutes to get him to a hospital even if we took the van. This way, the professionals can look after him on the way."

Damian frowned, but finally nodded. "My father?"

"I've alerted him that you have the boys," Oracle said in Dick's ear. "He's … relieved."

"He knows we found you," Dick relayed with a tight smile.

Damian glanced over at Katie for a moment before letting out a small sigh. "Thank you for helping us."

It was as close to playing the rescued victim as Damian was ever going to get, and despite the fact that Tim still wasn't out of danger, Dick's small smile turned genuine. He couldn't fight the urge any longer. He sank to his knees in front of his youngest brother and pulled him into a tight hug, witnesses be damned. At this moment, Damian was just a traumatized twelve-year-old and Nightwing was the almost-mythical figure who had plucked him from the terror.

Holding Damian eased some of the tension that had filled Dick since he had first heard that the kids were in trouble.

_Some_ of the tension.

As Damian's arms tightened around him, Dick glanced over at his other brothers. Jason was still leaning over Tim, his voice almost inaudible as he tried unsuccessfully to rouse the teenager.

As the wail of distant sirens finally grew closer, Dick gave Damian one last squeeze and pulled back. "Everything is going to be okay. Your brother is going to be fine."

Damian nodded and Nightwing stepped away to secure Katie before the police arrived.

It killed him to even consider leaving his brothers to the care of strangers, but Red Hood was still deemed a criminal by most of Gotham and it was far too exposed for either of them to remain once the police swarmed the building. With Katie zip-tied to the van's door handle and Mick still mostly-unconscious on the floor, the boys were as safe as Dick could make them. Damian even willingly traded places with Jason, wrapping his arms around Tim in an attempt to keep him warm as he lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor. Jason, for his part, looked reluctant to take back his jacket, but the logistical concerns of leaving anything of Red Hood's where the police could get it won out in the end. It wouldn't be long before the paramedics could work on Tim, and that was the only consolation to be had.

Dick and Jason waited until the last possible second to make their exit from the building and even then, they watched from across the street as the emergency crews made their way inside. Dick found himself cursing the mid-afternoon sun. If it had been night time, they might have been able to stay closer and perhaps even hear what was going on in the chop-shop. Being separated from his brothers was agony and he couldn't hide his agitation.

"If you wanna get changed so you can get to the hospital, you can go," Jason offered. He reached up and removed his helmet with a low sigh of relief as the air hit his skin. "I'll make sure they get there okay."

Part of Dick wanted to refuse, but the larger part of him wanted - _needed_ \- to be with his brothers as quickly as possible. He couldn't seem to pull his gaze from the building across the street, hoping for another glimpse of the youngest Wayne kids.

"I promise I won't even kill the asshole who tried to shoot the kids," Jason said and Dick could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Seriously, I know you aren't going to unclench until you can mother-hen them, so get going."

Dick turned to his brother. "Jay -"

Jason shook his head. "So help me, Dickface, if you get mushy on me, I'll shoot you myself and you can meet up with them from the comfort of your very own hospital bed."

Dick couldn't help the laugh that broke free at Jason's words. He reached out to grab Jason's shoulders and fought the urge to pull the younger man into a hug. "Thank you. For everything."

Jason sighed in exasperation. "Will you fuck off?"

"Yes, sir," Dick saluted cheekily. He was already planning the fastest route to his nearest safe-house. He had a hospital to get to.

* * *

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 - Bruce finally gets to see his kids and Tim is a little confused as to how his day went.

Bruce was out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop. For his part, Alfred seemed unsurprised by his actions and didn't let out so much as a peep of protest as Bruce slammed the door and rushed towards the hospital entrance.

Bruce was a man on a mission and that mission was to get to his kids as quickly as possible; nothing else mattered.

He was aware of the arrival of Jim Gordon as he pulled up next to Alfred, but he didn't stop to acknowledge the commissioner's presence. Alfred and Jim would follow, but Bruce couldn't bring himself to wait for either man to catch up. He felt slightly guilty for leaving Alfred, but he knew the older man would understand. He needed to see Tim and Damian. He _had_ to make sure they were safe; the need was so strong, he felt like he hadn't been able to draw a full breath since they'd been taken.

The relief he had felt when Oracle informed him of the successful rescue had been almost tangible, but Bruce would not be able to relax until he had seen his boys with his own eyes.

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he entered the emergency room. It was several degrees cooler inside than it was outside, which provided a small amount of relief to the headache Bruce had been nursing for the past several hours. That was the only good thing, however. The room was packed with people. There were those with obvious injuries waiting in the triage line and even more with small, exhausted-looking children tucked onto their laps. The seating area was full. Some people were bruised or bloodied, others were pale and exhausted. The harried staff moved purposefully through the room, aiding patients to the exam rooms as needed and calling out names of those next to be seen by the doctors.

It was loud in the way of any crowded room - no one was being particularly obtrusive, but there were the typical conversations and crying children, and their sheer numbers made the noise fill the space entirely.

It was into this crowd that Bruce cast his gaze, looking for any sign of his own children in the sea of people even as he made his way to the nurses' station. He didn't question the fact that people seemed to unconsciously sense his approach and move out of his way despite the fact that he was effectively cutting the line. He didn't have time to question it - not when he had two kids to find.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for my sons," Bruce said, forcing himself to maintain some semblance of self-control. "Timothy Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne. I was told they had been brought here -"

"Mr. Wayne," the nurse said without any indication of surprise. Bruce was almost certain he'd seen her before, and judging by the fact that she was neither impressed nor intimidated by his presence lent credence to that thought. He was also almost certain she was going to tell him to have a seat or go to the back of the line when a voice took all of his attention from the nurse in an instant.

"Father!" Damian called.

Bruce was already turning, zeroing in on his son's voice with effortless ease. "Damian!"

The boy was already cutting through the people in queue and he threw himself into Bruce's arms without any apparent care of appearing like a child in front of any onlookers.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked urgently as he hugged his son. Damian's hands gripped Bruce's shirt and he pressed himself as tightly against his father as he could. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," Damian replied, his answer somewhat muffled as he spoke into Bruce's shirt. "I am quite well, Father."

Bruce pulled back slightly, wanting to see for himself that Damian was unharmed. The boy allowed it, his face emotionless despite the fact that he'd just willingly embraced someone in public. He endured Bruce's scrutiny, frowning slightly as Bruce noted the bandages around his wrists.

Bruce reached out, taking Damian's hands as he inspected the injuries.

"It's nothing, Father." Damian was already pulling his hands back. "They merely fastened the handcuffs too tightly."

Bruce swallowed the surge of rage that filled him at the thought that someone would _dare_ to hurt his child.

"Master Damian, I am relieved to see you unharmed," Alfred said as he and Jim Gordon drew up at Bruce's side. Alfred's usually unflappable demeanour nonetheless revealed his true happiness at seeing his young charge safe at last.

"Pennyworth," Damian replied with a look of relief. "I had worried that you were injured during the chase. I am relieved to see you are well."

Alfred smiled. "I only regret that my attempts to retrieve you were unsuccessful, young sir."

Bruce let their soft words flow over him as he let out a slow breath. Damian would be hugging Alfred as soon as they were away from prying eyes; that much he knew for certain. The boy had just barely been convinced that children hugged their parents in public; he was still hesitant about embracing anyone else where he might be seen.

"Where's Tim?" Bruce asked. "Is he okay?"

Damian's face darkened. "The physicians, in their _infinite wisdom_ , have not seen fit to grace me with any details as to his condition. I have been informed that, despite the fact that sharing a father should be sufficient claim to kinship for their needs, one must also be of the age of majority before being told anything of value. I came out here to find you."

Bruce frowned. No one would tell Damian anything because he was too young. The hospital apparently felt that he was old enough to be allowed to wander the emergency room unsupervised, but somehow didn't feel he was mature enough to be told if his efforts to protect his brother had been successful. Bruce gripped Damian's shoulder firmly. "Don't worry. I'll find out what's going on."

Despite being Tim's father and most definitely over the age of majority, Bruce was also made to wait for what seemed like eternity for news. No amount of pestering got him any information and he was starting to believe that was a very ominous sign.

In what was likely an attempt to distract everyone from their worry about Tim, Gordon took Damian's statement while they waited. It was something that was probably far below his pay-grade and definitely not in his typical job description, but he did it without a second thought. Jim had been a friend of the family since Dick had been a child; longer, if Bruce was being perfectly honest. He wasn't even entirely certain that Jim Gordon didn't already know the truth of their identities. It was a topic that was never broached between them, and if he did know, Gordon gave no indication of his suspicions. Nevertheless, it was unsurprising that the man would choose to wait with them and Bruce was grateful for it.

He was even more grateful that it was Jim taking Damian's statement when the full story of what happened came out. Damian told the tale in a very matter-of-fact manner, focusing on details and observations that would likely prove very helpful to the police. Jim seemed impressed with Damian's level-headedness, but every word was making Bruce seethe with anger. Certainly, he had heard worse tales, and he had even rescued his kids from worse situations himself, but it hadn't been Robin and Red Robin in danger - it had been Damian and Tim. The fact that regular people had done all this - that they had nearly shot Damian in cold blood just because they didn't have the keys to his handcuffs -was almost more than Bruce could bear. If the kidnappers hadn't already been in custody, Bruce would have been highly motivated to seek them out immediately and show them the error of their ways. As it was, he forced himself to focus on the warmth of Damian's small hand in his own as the boy gave his statement and reminded himself that this was more important. He'd waited hours to see his kids again and he wasn't about to leave them anytime soon.

In the end, it took nearly 40 minutes before Bruce finally found himself sitting by Tim's bedside with his ears still ringing from the influx of information from the doctor responsible for his care. The medical team was optimistic, despite not yet knowing what exactly Tim had been dosed with. They were flushing his system and were apparently pleased with the changes in his vitals. Everyone had been so careful to look happy with Tim's progress, but as he stared at his son lying motionless and pale in the bed, it was difficult for Bruce to see what it was that made the doctors so certain that he would be fine. Tim was alive, but he looked helpless, small, and every bit the seventeen-year-old kid he actually was when he wasn't beating up criminals in the middle of the night. Bruce reached out to grasp Tim's limp hand and frowned at the coldness of his skin.

"He doesn't _look_ better," Damian groused, unknowingly confirming Bruce's thoughts.

"They said it will take some time," Bruce answered. He tried to sound confident, but he knew that Damian was not easily fooled.

He could hear Alfred and Jim talking quietly behind him and barely managed to pull his gaze from his unconscious son when Jim took his leave and promised to return later for Tim's statement.

Bruce would have to remember to thank him properly later for all the commissioner had done for his family, though part of him knew that Alfred would have already expressed gratitude on behalf of all the Waynes.

Alfred sat on the other side of Tim's bed. The older man looked exhausted and Bruce hated the fact that so much of Alfred's life involved worrying at bedsides. Alfred didn't let his weariness stop him from fixing Tim's blankets, though, as he pulled them up and fussed over the boy until he was certain Tim was as warm and comfortable as he could make him. The arm with the IV was left free of the blankets, not that Alfred would have made Bruce let go of Tim's hand so he could tuck it under. Bruce wasn't even certain he could have let go if he tried.

Damian leaned against Bruce's side, sighing deeply as Bruce put his other arm around him.

"How is he?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Bruce looked up as Dick entered the room and shut the door behind him. He looked slightly dishevelled, as though he hadn't bothered to clean up before coming to the hospital. Bruce knew that the opposite was true - Dick had clearly rushed to one of his safehouses to shower and change before hurrying to the hospital as quickly as he could. His hair was still damp and Bruce was fairly certain his t-shirt was on inside-out. He'd made good time, though, arriving at the hospital less than an hour after Bruce and Alfred had. Not bad for someone shedding a secret vigilante identity and coming from the far side of the city.

Dick didn't wait for an answer as he crossed to Tim's bedside. Even as he visually assessed Tim's condition, he reached over to Damian and pulled the boy into a hug which was returned without complaint.

"He's doing well," Bruce answered wearily. "Despite the doctors not knowing what the drug is yet, apparently his vitals are improving."

Dick let out a sigh of obvious relief and squeezed Damian a little tighter. "Jason and I didn't get a chance to steal a sample of the drug," he apologized. "If we'd gotten some to Oracle -"

Bruce shook his head. "If you'd taken the time to do that, who knows what would have happened to Tim and Damian. From what Damian has said, it was a pretty close call as it was."

Dick nodded gravely and Bruce made a note to ask him what exactly had happened during the stand-off. Judging by his eldest son's sombre expression, things had perhaps been slightly more dangerous than Damian had originally reported.

There were no more chairs in the room, so Dick planted himself on the foot of Tim's bed and pulled Damian up beside him.

"Where's Todd?" Damian asked, barely stifling a yawn.

"He was following you guys to make sure you got here okay," Dick replied. "If he's going to change and come over here as Jason, he'll probably be awhile yet."

That was a very definite _if_ in that sentence. Jason might decide to put in an appearance or he could just choose to go patrolling instead. One could never tell with him. Bruce was grateful enough that Jason had been there to help Tim and Damian; if his son chose not to come to the hospital, Bruce wouldn't hold it against him. A glance at Dick told him that his eldest had his own doubts about Jason showing up. Bruce nodded slightly and saw some of the tension leave Dick's expression. No one would judge Jason for keeping his distance.

Besides, there were other issues that were going to require attention and Bruce suspected that Jason was going to jump into those matters sooner rather than later. There was still the question of the unidentified man who had offered up Mick's services for the kidnapping. That man had known that Greg and Katie Grant had been planning to take Tim and had not only approved of the action, but had taken the initiative to supply a driver. _Or a murderer_.

The man also posed an immediate threat to Greg Grant's brother, and that was something that would have to be rectified.

After listening in on Damian's statement to Jim Gordon, Oracle had assured Bruce that she would look into things and find out the man's identity. It was only a matter of time before Batman was going to make certain that whoever that person was would regret every one of his questionable actions and his involvement in the plot.

The room fell silent as the room's occupants settled in for their wait. The only sounds were Tim's soft breathing and the steady beeping of his heart monitor.

It was deceptively peaceful.

Bruce allowed himself to relax slightly, letting himself believe that things were improving. His rare optimism seemed to be rewarded when Tim showed the first signs of waking about twenty minutes later.

The heart monitor beeped at a faster rate as Tim made a small sound of distress.

Dick and Damian were already off the bed as Bruce and Alfred stood to calm Tim down.

Tim's eyes were drug-glazed and his attention wandered as he blinked lethargically. He was clearly not fully with them, but Bruce was willing to take what he could get.

Tim's eyes were _open_ \- that had to be a good sign.

"Tim?" Bruce asked, running his hand over Tim's brow. "Can you hear me?"

His son couldn't seem to focus on him for any length of time. Tim's fingers absently scratched at the bed sheet and Bruce found himself grabbing hold of his hand in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

"You're okay, Tim," Bruce said confidently. "You're going to be fine."

Naturally, it was at precisely that moment when Tim paled even further, turned his head, and was immediately and violently ill.

* * *

The world made no sense.

It was a swirling mass of dull colours, muted sounds, and dizzying nausea. It was full of noises he couldn't identify and swirling images that never seemed to coalesce into anything recognizable.

It seemed to take forever for Tim to regain any kind of awareness, and even then, it was only enough to know that he felt terrible.

His head swam and even with his eyes closed, he felt like the world was spinning around him in all directions at once with no predictable pattern. He couldn't seem to actively fight it, but as time went on, it seemed to be getting easier to deal with.

_Maybe?_

It was hard to know for certain. His thoughts were disjointed and confused. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his mouth wouldn't obey his commands. If he'd been able to concentrate, the fact that he couldn't seem to control his body would have angered him, but as it was, anything close to emotion seemed to just slip away before he could grasp it.

He was painfully aware of the nausea, though. He didn't know how many times he had thrown up before realizing that was what he had been doing. There was always someone there - hands holding him while he was sick or heaving, and fingers running through his hair as he panted in exhaustion. Tim was too tired to identify the hands, though he felt certain he should know whose they were.

He drifted like that, in that dulled, twisting, and muted world, for what seemed like an eternity, only finding true escape when he managed to fall asleep and sink into nothingness.

Every time he woke up, there was a little more sensation, a little more awareness, until finally he opened his eyes and his vision was clear.

Tim blinked, uncertain if what he was seeing was real. A white ceiling loomed above him, dotted with tiny black holes. It was mostly dark, but a single light illuminated the room, sending out a warm glow that was nevertheless swallowed up by shadows. Tim wasn't certain where he was, but he was warm, comfortable, and aware - he no longer felt the persistent nausea that had been his world for so long. His head ached, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Something warm was pressed against his side and Tim forced his heavy head to turn.

It was a … _person_?

"Tim? Are you with me?"

The body at his side hadn't made the sound, so Tim raised his gaze farther. "Bruce?"

Bruce's smile was wide and genuine, and so completely unexpected that Tim felt a little self-conscious receiving it. Bruce didn't seem to mind. "How do you feel?"

"Are you watching me sleep?" Tim asked in confusion.

Bruce reached over the lump at Tim's side and grabbed his hand, squeezing slightly. "You've been sleeping for awhile. I've just been waiting for you to wake up."

Tim puzzled over that for a moment, trying to remember what exactly might have happened …

"What's the last thing you remember?" Bruce asked softly. He was being unusually quiet and careful. He only got like that when something was wrong. Bruce wasn't supposed to be like this - he was supposed to be firm and confident and gruffly affectionate. It was starting to worry Tim, and there was a beeping sound that was getting faster and more annoying -

"Hey, calm down!" Bruce said, squeezing his hand again. "You're okay. Everything is fine."

It took a moment for the beeping to slow and for Tim's brain to catch up. "Am I in the hospital?"

Bruce nodded. "You've had a busy day, but you're going to be fine. Everyone is fine."

Tim mused over that. "What's the cover story? I don't even remember getting hurt."

"No cover story required," Bruce replied. "You just need to relax and rest up. You'll feel better in the morning and then you can come home."

When Bruce spoke like that, _home_ referred to the Manor rather than Tim's own place. He was going to be under observation and excessive mother-henning, which meant that, whatever had happened, it had scared Bruce Wayne.

He shifted, trying to sit up, but the lump at his side made a noise of protest. Tim stilled and looked at Bruce in shock. "Is that _Damian_?"

"He wouldn't leave until he knew you were going to be okay. By that point, he was exhausted and half-asleep. It was easier to put him in with you than it was to make him go home."

Damian Wayne, the boy who had tried to kill him on multiple occasions, was curled up at his side like an overgrown puppy. Tim stared at him in disbelief, suddenly very concerned about accidentally waking him. What would Damian say if he woke to find himself snuggled up against his mortal enemy?

"What happened?" Tim asked, his voice barely above a horrified whisper.

Bruce hesitated. "Maybe we should wait until morning."

Tim shook his head. "I'm awake now and clearly it was something drastic."

Bruce sighed. "Tim Drake-Wayne got kidnapped after the board meeting earlier today."

Tim blinked. "I … don't remember that at all."

"That's not surprising," Bruce replied. "They drugged you. You've been out for hours - most of the day, actually. Speaking of which, you need to drink something."

Bruce retrieved a cup of water and insisted on helping Tim hold it. Tim initially tried to fight, but relented once he realized how badly his hands were shaking. The last thing he needed was to spill water all over Damian while he slept. He ended up drinking the entire cup, and was somewhat surprised that he hadn't even noticed how thirsty he was until the water was soothing his dry throat.

When he finished and Bruce had removed the empty cup, Tim turned his full attention on his father. "I think you'd better start right at the beginning."

As Bruce told him everything that had taken place since the end of the board meeting, Tim found his sense of disbelief growing.

Damian had gotten himself kidnapped trying to rescue _Tim_?

The same kid who had sworn that Tim was not part of the family had attempted to negotiate with armed gunmen to try and help him?

The boy with whom Tim could hardly share a civil exchange was currently cuddled beside him because he was _worried_? About _Tim_?

Tim felt as though he'd regained consciousness in an alternate world. Robin would - and had - risked himself for Red Robin before, but that was part of the job and almost always entailed enduring scathing criticisms for needing to be rescued in the first place. It was almost inconceivable that Damian Wayne would risk himself for Tim Drake-Wayne like that and even more so that it wasn't immediately followed up by a critique of his short-comings or some other form of derisive mockery.

Tim put a hand on the sleeping twelve-year-old and let it rest there as though assuring himself that he wasn't dreaming.

"He's okay, though?" Tim asked finally, pulling his attention from his younger brother's slumbering form to gauge Bruce's honesty. "They didn't hurt him?"

"Some scrapes and bruises, but he'll be fine," Bruce replied easily. He certainly didn't seem overly concerned with Damian's prognosis. Instead, his gaze as he regarded his sleeping youngest was fiercely proud.

"Speaking of brothers, Dick will be sorry he missed you waking up. He left about an hour ago after getting a call from Red Hood. Apparently, Oracle figured out who the driver was working for and Red Hood decided to take care of the entire organization. Immediately." Bruce kept his voice deliberately nonchalant.

"That didn't take long," Tim said in surprise.

"From what I've heard, they were very motivated," Bruce concurred. "Dick didn't have time to give me many details before running out, but apparently, Red Hood was very displeased that his views on kidnapping and the proper treatment of children were not being given the deference they deserved. Dick went along to make sure everyone stays alive long enough to take those views to heart; Alfred went along to monitor the situation from the cave and provide support if needed."

Tim nodded sombrely. "They're lucky Damian isn't a regular kid. Any other twelve-year-old in that situation would have come out traumatized."

"I could say something about you being a kid, too," Bruce pointed out with a small smile, "but I won't. _This time_."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm an emancipated minor, not a kid."

Bruce nodded in mock severity. "Of course. You're completely grown up."

It was an old argument, and one that neither of them was likely to concede anytime soon.

"What about the kidnappers? Is there going to be a trial or something?" Tim wasn't going to be of any use to investigators as he couldn't recall a thing, but he didn't want Damian to have to testify.

"The Grants and Rodney Meyers confessed. They'll go to jail, but we'll probably avoid a trial for them. Mick hasn't said a word. I expect he'll get a visit from someone scarier than he is in the near future."

While Red Hood was apparently taking the case somewhat personally, Tim knew Bruce was intending to take care of the gun-happy getaway driver himself. The man would likely sign a confession just to avoid the attention of Batman.

"The funny thing is, they kidnapped me so they could save the brother from being killed," Tim mused. "They may have failed at getting the ransom, but they still managed to get some heavy-hitters in their corner. Maybe it wasn't how they intended, but in the end they saved the brother anyway, didn't they?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"Are you both going to talk all night?" Damian's muffled voice sounded annoyed at being awakened.

"Sorry, Dami," Bruce said, reaching over to squeeze Damian's shoulder. "We didn't mean to wake you."

Damian grunted, rolling slightly so Tim could see his face. Damian looked exhausted and terribly young in his newly-awakened state.

"Damian, what you did for me . . . " Tim began, uncertain of what he was going to say. What _could_ he say? Damian had been kidnapped in an attempt to rescue Tim. He had been held hostage for hours and forced to make a ransom call. His wrists had been scraped raw from his attempts to escape and he had nearly been _shot_ , a thought that had Tim's stomach nearly rebelling in horror. If Damian had been killed, it would have been Tim's fault. Damian could have died, and Tim would have simply slept through it all, completely useless and unaware.

Things had worked out fine, but what if he'd regained consciousness to find a very different scenario? What if he'd opened his eyes in his hospital bed only to be told that Damian had been murdered? The thought of the little gremlin hurting and alone, dying in some abandoned building somewhere made Tim's head spin. The very idea of it was sickening -

"Drake," Damian interrupted Tim's tumultuous thoughts. " _Timothy_."

Tim looked over at his younger brother in surprise, meeting the sharp gaze of the youngest Wayne.

"I know your drug-addled mind is more clueless than usual right now, so please refrain from straining yourself."

Bruce gave a small noise of disapproval, but Damian ignored him.

"In truth, while the necessity of rescuing you was wholly inconvenient and resulted in my plans for the day being spoiled, if I had to do it again, I would do so without hesitation."

Tim blinked in surprise. "Uh, thank you?"

"Think nothing of it," Damian replied. "Allowing you to be murdered by the most incompetent kidnappers I've ever seen would only besmirch the family name and that outcome cannot be tolerated. After all, if anyone is going to kill you, it will be me."

Bruce groaned, but Tim couldn't fight the smile that crossed his face.

"If anyone is going to murder me, I guess I'd rather it be you," Tim replied, leaning back against his pillow with an exhausted sigh. "Seriously though, I mean it. Thank you, Damian."

There was a moment of heavy silence before Damian replied. "You are quite welcome, Timothy."

* * *

* * *

Well, this was supposed to be the end, but I realized there's something else that needs to happen … so I guess I'll be posting an epilogue in the next few days. Thanks so much for reading!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9: Damian is a little surprised by Drake's actions

I'm so sorry for the delay in posting this. For some reason, it was actually the hardest part to write! Anyway, here it is and I hope you like it. Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

Three days passed in relative peace and quiet at Wayne Manor as things slowly went back to normal.

Red Hood and Nightwing, with a great deal of help from Oracle, successfully dismantled the up-and-coming organized crime ring that had targeted Greg's brother. Everyone from the boss to the hired hands had been identified by Mick, who had turned on his former employer after a visit from Batman. Between his testimony and the evidence secured by Nightwing and Hood, there was little chance of anyone walking away from their crimes. It was also unlikely that anyone would be in any position to exact revenge anytime soon. So, while Greg and Katie Grant were going to prison for kidnapping, Greg's brother would remain alive as the couple had so desperately desired. It was as good an outcome as they could hope for, but Damian couldn't bring himself to take any pleasure in it.

And while Damian railed at the fact that he hadn't been permitted to participate in the operation, even he had to admit that the others had done a satisfactory job. He would have preferred the chance to land some punches of his own, but until his wrists had been given a chance to heal, he was not permitted to go out as Robin. Damian was fairly certain the deep bruising and abraded skin wouldn't stop him from doing his job, but even he couldn't deny the fact that his wrists were sore and looked terrible. In any case, there was no arguing with Pennyworth on the matter.

It could have been worse. He could have been both benched _and_ coddled as in the case of Drake. While Damian had effectively put an end to the displays of excessive affection inflicted upon him by his elders, Drake was still enduring their impositions with seemingly limitless patience.

Drake simply allowed Richard's infamous hugs, which were doled out in the form of ambushes at random intervals and maintained for apparently arbitrary lengths of time. Richard was entirely too pleased by the fact that Drake had apparently decided not to fight his affectionate nature, though the hugs didn't last quite as long when Damian was there to scowl at Richard.

Drake also accepted it when Pennyworth brought him decaffeinated tea and expected him to drink it. Even Damian was aware that Drake preferred coffee, so Pennyworth's methods of bringing comfort seemed more akin to torture than anything else. Pennyworth only seemed amused when Damian pointed that out.

Drake never uttered a word of complaint against Todd's incessant texts, which came through to both boys at all hours of the day and night. The messages were never anything of importance - all Todd did was forward memes and photos of animals doing unusual things - but the texts soon grew vexing due to the sheer number that were being sent. While Drake tolerated it with a sigh or an eye-roll, Damian had already grown to dread the sound of an incoming message. When he ordered Todd to stop, however, the older man simply started sending more. Damian was forced to admit that perhaps Drake's passive approach had been the wiser course after all.

Father's form of coddling was the most unusual. Father was almost compulsively determined to ensure that the drug compound was completely gone from Drake's bloodstream, despite all evidence indicating that it had, in fact, been undetectable for nearly two days. This meant that the teenager was subjected to intermittent blood tests for absolutely no reason and it was ridiculous. Since Drake was apparently unwilling to stand up for himself, Damian had taken to glaring at Father every time the man got the glint in his eyes that preceded retrieving the testing kit. Damian certainly hadn't gone through all the trouble of keeping the Drake alive just so he could die from exsanguination at home. Sometimes he was successful and managed to spare Drake the needle, but not always.

And still, Drake said nothing against it.

Perhaps the strangest thing about their forced convalescence was the fact that Drake had taken to spending a great deal of time in Damian's company. At first it had confused Damian, but he soon realized that Drake was likely escaping the others and hiding where he would be free to do as he chose. After all, Damian wasn't about to tell Drake to drink more, eat more, or sleep more. He certainly wasn't about to start hugging him.

It had been strange at first to spend so much time with the older boy, but Drake tended to be a quiet and unobtrusive companion for the most part. He merely planted himself in whichever room Damian was occupying at the time and while Damian painted, read, or trained, Drake worked on his laptop. Sometimes he was catching up on reports or working on cases, but other times he was brainstorming. Damian was surprised to find that he actually enjoyed it when Drake was in what he referred to as 'creative mode.' The teen would sometimes speak his thoughts aloud and he took to running ideas by Damian as though he valued the fact that he had an interactive audience. At first, Damian hadn't been certain Drake was actually addressing him at all, much less on purpose, but Drake seemed genuinely interested in his responses. Over time, Damian began replying whether Drake was muttering to himself or not, and the teen never rebuked him for it. Their impromptu collaborations ended up developing a number of interesting ideas, the most pressing of which involved potential upgrades to the emergency trackers. It was an issue that certainly needed addressing.

Damian was actually a little surprised at how well things were going, until the fourth day ...

"You're leaving?" Damian scowled at Drake. "Father will not be pleased."

He watched Drake carefully as the two boys stood in the kitchen. Damian had been looking for a snack, but for some reason Drake had sought him out to deliver his news in person. Suddenly, Damian found his earlier hunger had all but abandoned him.

Drake nodded. "He's been _subtly hinting_ that he wants me to move back in, but I have my own place now. I have my own responsibilities and it's time I got back to them. Four days is a long time to be away and Bruce understands that."

"And you feel that you've convalesced for long enough that your civilian colleagues will permit you to return to work," Damian surmised.

"Believe me, the fact that everyone at work knows about what happened is really inconvenient. Be glad you're on summer vacation, or all your teachers would be breathing down your neck, too," Drake said with a laugh. "Everyone keeps telling me to _take time_ and _process_ _everything_. If they had any idea what a normal crisis is for this family, they'd probably implode. Anyway, I think I've waited long enough to satisfy most of them and it's not like I remember anything to process - I slept through it all."

"And at least when you are safely hidden away in your apartment, you will be free of the incessant mothering to which you have been subjected."

Drake sighed. "They're just showing that they care. Besides, it hasn't been that bad."

Damian barely managed to hide his surprise. "If it _wasn't that bad_ , why were you hiding from them?"

"I wasn't hiding."

Damian regarded the older boy suspiciously. Drake's confusion certainly seemed sincere, but one could never tell with him. "What were you doing then?"

"Hanging out, I guess?" Drake shrugged.

Damian blinked. "Hanging out? With me?" _On purpose_? Slow realization washed over him. All that time he had thought Drake was seeking protection from the well-meaning but overbearing elders of the house. Damian had run interference on his behalf; he had threatened Richard with bodily harm if he didn't keep his arms to himself, he had hidden the syringes from Father, and advised Pennyworth that Drake was likely only drinking the tea to be polite. His threats to Todd had been varied and graphic.

He had completely misread the situation and he felt a tendril of deep-seated embarrassment settle in his stomach at the thought of everyone laughing at him. He had told everyone else to leave Drake alone and in so doing had become more guilty of coddling the teen than any of them. He hadn't even realized he was doing it.

Damian looked up at Drake appraisingly. The only saving grace was that Drake would never know. Father, Pennyworth, and Todd would be unlikely to mention his actions, unless Todd was feeling particularly contrary. Richard's silence in such matters could either be bought or obtained through blackmail. At this point, Damian was not going to get picky about methods as long as he obtained results.

"It turns out you're pretty good company," Drake admitted, seemingly oblivious to Damian's distraction. "I'm a little embarrassed that I never tried hanging out with you before. I know we never really got off to a good start, and there were some pretty rough patches in there-"

"I tried to kill you," Damian noted bluntly.

"But you've gotten better," Drake conceded. "We aren't the same people we were a couple years ago. After everything that's happened, I realized that we don't really know each other at all and I think we need to change that. Outside of our night jobs, I mean."

Damian wasn't certain how to reply to that.

"Really, we worked pretty well together on the plans for the trackers, right?" Drake laughed nervously. "Obviously, we don't _have_ to hang out if you don't want to. It's just that-"

"Drake," Damian interrupted what was likely to turn into a long and incoherent ramble. "I would not be averse to the idea of further collaborations. Perhaps you might return to the Manor on the weekend so that we can implement our designs."

"That sounds good. I can definitely do that," Drake smiled slightly. "I guess I'll see you then, Dami."

"No doubt you will," Damian replied.

With that, Drake took his leave and Damian was alone in the kitchen.

At least, he thought he was alone.

"I'm proud of you, Damian," Father's voice broke the heavy silence. "Seeing you and Tim getting along this week has been great."

Damian turned to see his Father lurking in the doorway to the dining room. "I had no idea that we had been … _bonding_ ," he admitted, "but the result is the same. We have devised some interesting possibilities for the emergency trackers, as well as several other pieces of equipment."

Father nodded. "I look forward to seeing them. Right now, though, we have other matters to discuss."

Damian raised an eyebrow. That was the tone of voice that Father used when outlining business proposals or planning things with Lucius Fox. It wasn't a voice he typically used with Damian. It had to be a matter of great importance.

"A few days ago, you and I had planned to celebrate the first day of your summer vacation," Father said gravely. "Obviously, due to circumstances beyond our control, those plans were altered."

Damian nodded, fighting against the smile that threatened to break free as he realized what Father was going to say.

"I had hoped that we might rectify the situation. If you agree, we could make it more of a celebration of your first _week_ of vacation rather than your first _day_. I am open to suggestions as to your desired activities. Do you have any objections?"

"None at all, Father," Damian replied, his light tone betraying his excitement even as his face remained carefully stoic. "I have many thoughts and will happily outline them all for you on the way to lunch."

Father reached out and grasped Damian's shoulder firmly before pulling him into a hug. "Well, I guess there's no time to lose, then, is there?"

"My thoughts precisely, Father." Damian felt a smile finally cross his face, mirrored by the expression his father sported.

It was going to be a good day.

The End

* * *

Thanks again to everyone for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


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